


Trials by Fire

by Emerald_Leaves



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Blood, Destruction, Dragons, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gore, Graphic Description, Original Character Death(s), Psychological Trauma, Scars, Suffering, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:50:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald_Leaves/pseuds/Emerald_Leaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up in the protected kingdom of Doriath, Thranduil finds himself restless and he yearns to see the world, to prove his might. But what he doesn't realize is how cruel the world can truly be. The story of Thranduil's life in Doriath, how he got his scar, and watching the destruction of Doriath. Warnings: Violence, gore, blood, death, OCs, no pairings (save canonical).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue

F.A. 412

A rather dark scowl formed on the face of the young ellon as he pulled at the new armor he wore—which was currently chafing his armpits— while his mother fussed over him. When all that straightening of his collar and brushing off of imaginary dust became too much, Thranduil stuck out his hands and pushed his mother back a few steps, needing to get away from her incisive fretting. “Nana,” he whined. 

“Leave him be, Calassiel,” his father scolded, looking his son over. “He’s fine.”

“Oh, you always say that,” the golden haired elleth pouted to her husband, before turning back to her son. “A mother must make certain these things,” she replied haughtily before licking the tip of her thumb and standing up on her tiptoes so she could rub at yet another invented imperfection. 

“Nana!” Thranduil moaned, pushed her hand away in horror. “For the last time, there’s nothing there! It’s just a shadow or something.”

“Just to be certain,” she winked up at her son, who couldn’t help but roll his eyes in frustrated disgust at his mother’s unwanted playfulness. 

“Mind your mother, ion nín,” Oropher chided sternly, before carefully guiding his wife away from their annoyed offspring. “Now, are you ready to go?” 

“Yes,” the young elf drawled in exasperated suffering. “I’ve been ready to go since forever.”

Calassiel laughed at her son’s dramatics, her voice as light and soft as tiny bells caught in a gentle breeze. While Thranduil would never admit to it, especially at times when her mirth was caused at his expense, he loved to hear his mother laugh. It was so pure and lovely. It instantly soothed the young ellon’s nerves no matter the situation. He had noticed, too, after much observation, that it seemed to have the same effect on his father, though it was sometimes hard to tell. Oropher was always so stern and stoic that it sometimes surprised his son that his parents had fallen in love at all. They were just so dissimilar. 

But he was shaken from his musings when his father clasped the younger elf on the shoulder. “Let’s be off,” he said simply, gesturing towards the door. “The king needs to inspect you before you’re assigned to your first official duty.”

Thranduil couldn’t help but make a face at the obviously proud speech. “I still don’t understand why I have to be a guard,” he muttered. “Aren’t you like a prince or something? Shouldn’t you be assigned as some kind of advisor to the king?”

Oropher gave his son a flat look before turning to walk out the door, forcing Thranduil to follow, but not before giving a quick wave to his mother as he went. “I suggest you temper your tongue before you are presented to the king,” the elder elf advised once his son had caught up, sending him a pointed look. “King Thingol does not tolerate cheekiness.”

The young ellon smirked as he fell into step beside his father. “I’m not cheeky, Adar,” he argued. “I just appreciate wit.”

The silver-haired elf gave his son another dry look before turning away. Together the two walked in relative silence. Since his father was in no mood to speak, Thranduil took the time to breathe and prepare himself for the meeting with the High King of the Sindar for the first time. 

Well, it wasn’t the very first time, the ellon corrected himself. King Thingol had come to inspect his great-great nephew when he was born and to bestow a blessing, but that had been the last time the sovereign had taken any interest in his youngest great-great nephew. Which was unfair, really, since Thranduil believed himself to be incredibly interesting. 

But that was the way of things. The king was only concerned with those that were useful to him, and now that Thranduil was finally of age, he could be useful. It was apparently a major concern to his father that this meeting go well. Oropher was in favor with the king currently for his steadfast loyalty and his prudishness in politics. Apparently the more boring one could be, the more he was esteemed by the king. It made the young elf scrunch up his nose in revulsion. How tedious. 

A part of Thranduil knew that he should probably be worried about this meeting with the king, yet the greater part of him found he couldn’t muster the energy to bother. It was too much effort to concern himself with something like this. It was just one meeting, after all, and his father always made such a big deal about everything that had to do with the king. If things went poorly, the ellon would just shrug and hope he could pull at family ties. If the king found any failings in Thranduil, the younger elf would just gently point out that it came from Thingol’s side of the family, he supposed. Not his fault that he inherited the ‘Sindar boldness’ as his mother called it. 

At last they reached the king’s audience chamber and paused outside the door. Thranduil scratched at the armor rubbing under his arm before his father slapped his hand back. The younger elf grumbled, looking away resentfully, but his father’s hand on his arm drew the elfling’s attention back. 

Staring down slightly into blue eyes so similar to his own, though usually so guarded, the young elf saw many things swimming within the sapphire orbs. It stalled his sulkiness at having this meeting. It was the first time in a long time since Thranduil could remember seeing his father looking so…open. “Adar?” he asked, confused.

The shadow of a smile graced Oropher’s lips as he studied his son’s face with a gentleness that was not typical for him. “Today is the anniversary of your conception,” he explained quietly. “And it is now also the day you are grown. You are no longer an elfling, ion nín, it is time for you to step up and accept responsibility.”

A weight began pressing down upon the young elf at his father’s speech. It was heavy and felt precious, and was something Thranduil found he did not like. Oropher was making this of far too much importance, yet strangely, the young ellon felt compelled to live up to his father’s expectations despite the rebellious side that wanted nothing to do with what his father was silently commanding. He didn’t want this life, he didn’t want to have to walk in anyone else’s shadow when the sun shone so brilliantly just ahead. Yet the weight that had come upon him whispered to Thranduil, and the young elf knew that even if he did run, it would catch up to him in the end. 

So, with his father staring at him so keenly, the young elf bowed his head formally. “Yes, Adar.” 

And with only one more pat on the shoulder, Oropher turned his son towards the door and sent him in. Thranduil couldn’t help imagine a lamb slowly trekking into the wolf’s den. The great doors were instantly closed behind him the moment he stepped through the threshold of the king’s chamber. He was trapped. There was no turning back. 

As he looked up, he saw sitting there before him, seated high upon his throne, King Thingol himself. The greatest of the Sindar. 

Story of the High King of the Sindar had spread wide throughout Middle Earth, of his radiance and stature, but Thranduil was convinced it hadn’t done the elf justice. He himself was considered quite tall, taller than most because of the Vanyar blood from his mother, but Thingol was taller still. The tallest of all the Eldar many said. And his head was crowned with long, shining silver hair that twinkled under the light like the heavens at night. His eyes, too, were deep silver, as if the Valar had plucked two stars from the sky and placed them into the face of one of the First Born. 

The young elf found himself intimidated, but his pride would not allow him cower. If anything, it made the younger ellon stand up straighter, ignoring the itchiness under his arms, to keep his shoulders square. While Thingol might have been the king, Thranduil was convinced that he was not beneath the elf sitting upon the throne. He had every right to be proud, and that pride instantly found its way into his bearing and gate as he walked towards the throne with long, confident steps. 

Beside the king, watching him, was Prince Celeborn, his father’s cousin. Celeborn, like his father, held the king’s favor. But while Oropher served as the head of the king’s personal guard, Celeborn was the king’s chief most advisors. Oropher held the king’s life in his hands while Celeborn held the king’s ear. Thranduil could never decide which was a more powerful position. 

Once before the throne, Thranduil got down upon his knees, as he’d been taught, and bowed down to the king, hands out before him on the ground, his face to the floor. It hurt his ego to have to perform such a humbling act, as if he were nothing more than a sniveling beast, but then, he did not wish to cause his father any problems. Especially not after what had just passed between them moments ago. So, while he silently fumed at being made to stay on the ground until the king fancied, outwardly he remained perfectly still and submissive. Or at least he hoped it looked that way. 

After what seemed a little too long, making the young elf wonder if the king was playing games with him, Thingol finally spoke. “Rise, my dear nephew. Rise.”

Doing as he was told, Thranduil stood from the ground and regained his proud disposition. He kept his face as neutral as he could, though his father always scolded him for bearing a constant arrogance in his features. His mother claimed that it was merely confidence, while Oropher always doubted the look. Whatever it was, the young elf was sure it was there now, but didn’t worry much about it. It was not something he could help, at any rate, so he would allow the king to judge him as he truly was. 

And it seemed the king was doing just that. Thingol sat silently a moment, looking over his great-great nephew like one might a horse they were preparing to purchase. Thranduil tried not to let the comparison burn his dignity, but it was difficult. Especially when he saw Celeborn giving disapproving frowns at him. What were they looking for? 

“Well,” the king spoke again, a slight smirk on his face as he stood and came down from his throne, Celeborn following after him. “I never would have imagined that one of Oropher’s sons would have so much pride.”

Keeping himself still, the younger elf watched as Thingol circled around him, becoming both angry and nervous. He couldn’t stop himself as he asked, “Is having confidence in one’s self offensive to you, my lord?” 

The moment he uttered the words Thranduil snapped his mouth shut, suddenly afraid that he had not only ruined this meeting, but had gotten himself and his family into serious trouble. Etiquette dictated that he wait until the king allow him to speak, yet his own sense of protocol had always demanded that he defend himself when attacked. At the moment, however, he cursed his loose lips, almost wishing his parents had been sterner with him when growing up. 

“Hold your tongue, child,” Celeborn chided, scowling at his younger cousin. 

Just as embarrassed shame started to make its way to the young ellon’s mind, the king held up his hand before more words could be passed. “No, no,” he said, stopping directly before Thranduil, half a head taller than the younger elf. “It is not often I hear candidness. Speak, child. You have more to say, I can tell.”

The situation suddenly became confusing. The pressure of doing well for his father’s sake did not go away, but pushed down heavier upon the young ellon as he stared up at the king. But he was given the freedom to speak, which appealed to young elf very much. Yet there was also palpable tension in the room between himself and Celeborn, the elder elf seeming to dare his cousin to open his mouth again. Strangely Thranduil found he did not feel as suffocated when before the king as he was when he looked over at his cousin. 

Knowing he had to say something now, especially since the king ordered it, Thranduil dipped his head in an act of humbleness that was probably not convincing. “I meant no offense, my lord,” he replied slowly, studiously ignoring Celeborn’s gaze boring into him. “It is that I merely do not understand why pride is to be perceived as something negative. Pride is what keeps realms standing and united, it is said. It is what keeps rulers strong.” 

The king nodded once, silver eyes dancing. “Interesting assessment. And you do not believe that pride is at all harmful?”

“I suppose it can be…if used incorrectly.”

Thingol laughed out loud. “And how can pride be used ‘correctly’?” His silvery eyes sparkled in amusement. 

Feeling as if he was being appeased, as though he were a child, Thranduil straightened himself up, trying to match the king’s height, though knowing it was a useless gesture. “Pride is an effective weapon. One must be strong to wield it or else they fall to shame. It can rally peoples and bring honor. Those who have no pride rarely accomplish much in this world and are usually swept away; forgotten.”

“And you have no plans of being forgotten.” The king’s grin unnerved the younger being. 

Blinking once, not truly understanding why these questions continued when he’d explained himself, Thranduil shook his head once, despite knowing the king’s last words were rhetorical. “No. Why should I?” 

The king laughed again, actually reaching out to clasped the young elf on the shoulder as his father had, grinning widely. “Such nerve for one so young! And you are only a century?” 

Feeling uncomfortably juvenile, Thranduil tried not to squirm under the king’s touch. “Exactly today, my lord.”

“That’s right,” Thingol nodded, before looking hard at his great-great nephew. The intensity of the stare burned. “You have the look of your mother,” he said sobering slightly. “Though I see traces of your father...” He paused. “All the better. Now, tell me of yourself, young one. Why do you wish to be inducted into my services?” 

I don’t, Thranduil thought to answer, but in that, he held his tongue. “I wish to fulfill my duty and serve my realm and king, my lord.”

Thingol gave him a look that clearly said he knew what the younger elf truly thought, but nodded anyway. “And you wish now to step up to serve beside your father? To give yourself to the realm that has protected you since your birth?”

“Yes,” the blond nodded once, becoming stiff, repeating the words that had been beaten into him for many years now. “It is my duty to give back to my realm any way that I can.”

“Indeed it is,” the king nodded, his face sobering as he looked over his young relation. “Very well, young one, you may make your pledge to me.” The king held out his hand expectantly. 

A wave of dread flooded over Thranduil as he looked down at the offered hand, but he took it and knelt down before his king anyway. For all of his previous bravado, his nerves had finally caught up with him and as he sat on his knees staring at the jeweled rings on the large hand, the young elf had to take a moment to breathe. Even though there was only the king and Celeborn in the room, Thranduil felt as though everyone in the realm was staring down at him, daring him to rise up and run away as an uncomfortably great part of himself screamed for him to do just that. This was not the life he wanted. There was so much more he could do, so much more he could give to the realm besides standing behind the king. 

But there was one pair of eyes in his mind that forced the young ellon to stay rooted in place, and he knew they were waiting just outside the door for him. Taking one last deep breath, Thranduil began, “I, Thranduil, son of Oropher, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend my realm and king against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the King of Doriath and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to the laws and Code of Warriors. So help me Valar.” 

The words sat heavily upon Thranduil’s tongue as he spoke them, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. And when he had finally spoken the last of them, he stared down once more at the hand before him, fighting the urge to sneer. Instead, however, he managed to lean forward and kiss the fingers before releasing the king’s hand. 

The moment he let go, Thingol placed his hands back upon the younger being’s shoulders. “I accept your pledge, my nephew. Rise.”

Thranduil did as he was bid, and stood, feeling heavier and more trapped than he ever had before. But he worked to keep his inner musing to himself, not wanting the king to guess that his nephew was already regretting the pledge. 

Forever was a long time, and Thranduil knew he would not be satisfied with his work for that long. But what else could he do? There was not much choice for him here in Doriath, nor would there ever be. He was the king’s guard now, his warrior, and could do nothing save with the king’s consent. It was a depressing thought. 

But pushing such gloomy feelings away, waiting as patiently as he could, Thranduil watched as the king looked over him. There was a strange glint in the monarch’s eye that made the younger ellon uncomfortable. What was he looking for?

A smile once more found its way onto the king’s lips, and a rather pleased expression set itself on his features. “I believe I have kept you here long enough,” Thingol declared at last. “You may leave, Oropherion.”

Utter relief swept over Thranduil and he tried not to let the king see it. But as he began to bow, he realized something was not right, and blurted, “You have not given me my assignment yet.”

Another disapproving look from Celeborn told the younger elf that he probably should have at least tacked on a ‘my lord’ for good measure, but the time was past now. Adding it now would only make him look more foolish, so he held his tongue― and his breath― hoping he hadn’t been too rude. He probably had been, though. His great-great uncle didn’t look like the kind of ellon that took disrespect well, nor as a king, would he be used to it. 

That same smirk from earlier when he’d first spoken out of turn revisited the king’s lips, and Thranduil suspected that he was going to have to watch himself around the Sindar king from now on. That twinkle in his eye didn’t ease the younger being’s worries. “There will be plenty of time for that, my dear young nephew,” he said with what sounded akin to insincere comfort. “Today is your conception day! You need not be hindered with responsibility just yet. You will have the rest of your immortal life for that.” 

The remark hit Thranduil hard, but a blow harder still came when Thingol continued, “Come to dine tonight with my family.” The blond blinked, sure his eyes were the size of the moon. “Bring your family. We will have a private celebration for your coming of age and your induction into my services.”

Thranduil stood speechless, looking up at his sovereign, not quite knowing what to say. Behind him, Celeborn cleared his throat, and it was only then that the younger elf found his voice again. “I-I…Yes! Yes, thank you, my lord, we would be delighted.” Another stern look from Celeborn spurred Thranduil to add, “And honored.” He stopped himself before adding a vulgar, I suppose.

The king laughed once more, shaking the youth’s shoulder in a too familiar fashion. It amazed Thranduil that Thingol felt this comfortable with him considering that ellon hadn’t bothered to see his great-great nephew since the day of his birth. But then, he was king and could do whatever he pleased. Sometimes the younger elf wished he could be king, if just so he could get away with breaking protocol. 

And with only a wave of the hand, the ruler dismissed the young elf with a chuckle, annoying the blond soundly, but he knew he’d pushed his luck enough for one day. Instead of wrinkling his nose in distaste at the treatment he received, like an obedient servant of the king, Thranduil bowed low, bent nearly to ninety degrees, feeling ridiculous, before he straightened and turned to stride out of the room. The farther away from Thingol’s unpleasant joviality and Celeborn’s disapproving stares, the better the blond felt. In fact, the moment he was out the door and they closed behind him, he felt comfortable enough to pick at his underarms, bemoaning the fact that they still itched. 

He didn’t get the sweet satisfaction of scratching them long, however, before his father came rushing over, an uncharacteristically worried expression on his face. “Well?” Oropher demanded the moment he was beside his son, simultaneously slapping his hand away from itching his underarms. “How did it go?” 

Thranduil nearly groaned. He didn’t feel like being interrogated by his panicky father after the uncomfortable introduction to the king. But it did seem unavoidable. “Well, I suppose,” he shrugged, not looking the other in the eye. 

Oropher frowned, grabbing his son’s shoulder and leading him back towards their home. “Did you mind your manners? You followed all proper etiquette?” 

Flashes of memory from only minutes before rushed past Thranduil’s eyes― Celeborn’s disapproving glares that were too similar to his father’s every time something tumbled out of his mouth. But the younger elf pushed such thoughts away to roll his eyes instead. “Yes, Ada, I bowed and remained at attention and even enunciated all my words.”

The silver haired elf scowled at his son. “Don’t get smart,” he snapped. “I sincerely hope you minded your mouth in there.”

Again, Celeborn’s scowls came to mind, but were replaced with images of the king’s smiles. “The king was not offended with me,” he answered carefully, which was true enough. He just hoped his father didn’t ask anything more specific. 

Thankfully today Oropher’s mind seemed particularly distracted and he did not call his son out for his aloofness. “Excellent,” he nodded once. “And where did the king station you?” 

Thranduil itched at his arms awkwardly, trying not to meet his father’s gaze, which did not go unnoticed. “Don’t tell me he put you on guard duty in the southern wing,” the older elf groaned. “What did you say for him to place you there?” 

“He didn’t put me there!” Thranduil cried in defense, before deflating an instant later. “He just…didn’t…put me anywhere…Yet.”

Apparently of all the scenarios going on in Oropher’s head, that had never been one. Immediately the silver haired ellon stopped dead in his tracks, staring over at his son with wide, shocked eyes. “He didn’t accept your pledge?” he whispered in horror. “Valar, what did you do that would offend him?” 

“He wasn’t offended!” Thranduil cried in exasperation, throwing up his arms, which only made the itch fiercer. “Look, all he said was that he didn’t want to ruin the anniversary of my conception day by giving me duties. He said he’d get back with me on it.”

At Oropher’s disbelieving look, his son sighed in loathing. Why did everyone insist of treating him like a dishonest elfling? “Really! He even invited all of us to dinner tonight to celebrate my conception day.”

Another surprised expression passed over Oropher’s usually impassive face as he stared into his son’s eyes, searching for any signs of deceit. When he saw none, the elder elf’s entire body tensed, and Thranduil was actually afraid that his father might fall over. He’d never seen his father so…expressive before, and it was starting to worry him. “Ada?” 

Slowly, the other elf drew a deep breath. And just as slowly, he let it out before repeating several times. “The king…King Thingol… asked us to dine with him this evening?” 

A smirk wormed its way onto Thranduil’s lips now, his eyes beaming with barely concealed smugness. “For my conception day.” 

“He offered this?” 

“Yes.”

“Freely?”

“Graciously.” 

One set of blue eyes narrowed suspiciously while the other merely twinkled. It wasn’t every day Thranduil had the upper hand over his father. But now that he did, he wanted to enjoy the sweet satisfaction to its fullest. And with all the looks Oropher was giving him, it only served to amuse the younger ellon immensely. 

At last Oropher released his son from his gaze and began walking back towards their home. Thranduil trailed behind happily, smiling cheekily at anyone who bothered to look his way. The more he thought about his invitation to dine with the king, the more he liked the idea of it. He’d gained the special attention of King Thingol in the first meeting! How many others received such honor? The young elf was willing to bet it wasn’t many, which only fanned the flames of his already expanding ego. 

When they walked into the door of their home, Calassiel was by their sides in an instant, an expression of barely contained excitement on her face as she raced forward to plant a kiss on her mate’s cheek before throwing her arms around their son. Finding he particularly loved his mother’s exuberance today, Thranduil hugged her back fiercely, even going so far as to kiss her on the cheek, knowing she adored it when he did that. The she-elf smiled warmly up at her son, before grabbing his arm and leading him towards the kitchen. 

“Tell me everything!” she exclaimed once there, Oropher trailing along behind the two blonds. “Where are you posted? When do you start? What did the king say? Oh, my dearest, I am so proud of you!” 

Again, the young elf couldn’t help the swell of pride in himself for having pleased his mother so greatly― and she didn’t even know anything that had happened! Unlike her husband, Calassiel was free in her expressions and affection, showering her son with it often and generously. No matter what happened, Thranduil knew he always had his mother’s love. Which always made it worse if he ever let her down. His father, on the other hand, while usually more stern despite his interrogation after his son’s meeting with the king, also appeared proud of his son. Looking at his sire now, young ellon knew he had his father’s support. 

So, once they were all seated around the table, Thranduil quickly launched into everything that passed within the king’s throne room. Although, he did deem it prudent to leave out the parts where Celeborn had scowled at him in disapproval... And the few times where he might have spoken out of turn before Thingol gave him permission to speak freely. But they didn’t need to know about all that. He told them only what was important, and that was having gained the king’s favor. 

As expected, his mother was beaming, her smile rivaling the sun in its brightness once her son’s tale was complete. “Oh, Thranduil!” she cried, taking his hands in hers. “This is wonderful! I am so very proud of you! But we will need to prepare for this evening! You must wear your best!” 

Oropher only shook his head at his wife’s antics as she prattled on about how they would prepare for the night, before excusing him to get back to work. Now having the entire day free, Thranduil was pleased he could relax and enjoy his conception day properly. While his mother continued to fuss about the dinner, the young ellon decided to relax in his room. After all, he deserved it. 

When he entered his room, the first thing he did was remove his armor, liberally scratching at his underarms, before flopping down on the bed. A content sigh escaped him, and a pleased grin spread across his lips as he thought of his parents’ proud smiles. There was nothing quite as satisfying as pleasing not only his mother, but father as well. 

But just as he was becoming too satisfied with himself, congratulating himself on winning the king’s favor, the words of his recent pledge came back to hang over him. His smile faltered, and the young elf found himself staring up at the ceiling, the weight from before returning with intensity. He had sworn allegiance to King Thingol. 

Forever. 

Forever was a long time, and it sent a chill down the young elf’s back. Once more, his mind was assaulted with doubts. His father had been so happy when Thranduil had decided to follow in Oropher’s footsteps, but that had never been what the blond had wanted. He had only wished to please his father― and he had. But at what cost? 

Rolling over onto his stomach, hugging his pillow, resting his chin on it, Thranduil frowned at nothing. Could he really do this? Could he serve King Thingol forever? Be nothing but one of his personal guards? Do the same thing day in and day out, standing behind the throne, not moving, for hours at a time all day every day? Could he bite his tongue and keep his opinions to himself? Could he really allow himself to waste away within the walls of Doriath, never to see the outside world? 

The thought terrified him. Ever since he’d been a child Thranduil had dreamed of more, of a world beyond his home. But now he had solidified his confinement. He’d killed what little freedom he’d had ever had once pledging himself to the king. Now that he was in the service of the king, he would never be able to do as he wished. His movements, his actions, his words, would now be monitored strictly, a reflection upon the king himself. He would have to do whatever the king wanted, be whatever the king wanted, and he would have no say in the matter. 

This would not do. Sitting up, Thranduil walked back out into the main living area, intent on finding his mother. If there was anyone who could distract him from such gloomy, heart-breaking thoughts, it would be her. And so, helping her prepare for the evening, the young ellon pushed aside his doubts and fear to instead focus on the frivolous, not wishing to spoil what had been such a triumphant day. 

Forever could wait. For now he would enjoy himself. And maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they now appeared...


	2. An Ordinary Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil has a rather good day.

Chapter One: An Ordinary Day

F.A. 472

For the inhabitance of Doriath, it was just another ordinary day. Within their sheltered realm, all was well. Peaceful. They had not the concerns of the world while safely within the Girdle of Melian. Here they were safe from the outside world of war. The fear of Morgoth was only in the back of their minds. While protected by King Thingol and his Maia queen, they were well. 

But terribly, terribly bored. Or at least Thranduil was. As he stared out over the assembly of gathered elves, the young ellon couldn’t help but wish that something would happen. Anything. Perhaps an advisor suddenly snapping, and starting a fight? A dwarven trader falling out of his chair? A crazed maniac busting in through the doors, screaming profanities? Anything, even a spear to the face would have been a welcomed distraction from the utter mind numbing boredom he felt now. 

Blue eyes rolling to stare at the back of the king’s head, the young guard fought not to shift or twitch. His nose itched, but it was not permitted to break formation in a meeting such as this. As the dwarf who was speak continued to prattle on and on about this or that, Thranduil realized he should probably be paying attention, being the ‘leading dwarven expert’ and all. But his mind simply wasn’t in it. All his brain could think about was the incessant boredom he felt and the itch at the end of his nose. If only something would happen. 

It had been sixty years since he’d first been inducted into the royal guard, and it hadn’t taken long for Thranduil to come to utterly despise the position. Not only had he been put through agonizing physical training, honing and sharpening his skills with spear and sword, but then all of that work, that training, was being used so he could stand still for hours on end with absolutely nothing to do, save spy on dwarves. What a waste. 

Lips twitched into a shadow of a scowl as he thought back to all of his Khuzdul lessons with Master Sigird. Still to this day Thranduil believed that it had all be a sick joke on the part of King Thingol when he’d ordered his great-great nephew to learn the language of the dwarrow. When he’d first pledged himself to the king, and when Thingol had told his distant relation that he had special plans for him, Thranduil had been excited. Who wouldn’t be? He’d imagined getting his own command of elves, of getting out of the caves and patrolling the boards, or even being a herald and delivering messages to Noldor kings, to get out and see the world. But no. That was not Thranduil’s fate. The ‘special’ assignment of the king had been taking Khuzdul lessons with an impossible-to-please dwarf. 

As it had turned out, Khuzdul as a language was ten times worse than what rumor had made it out to be. Never before in his entire life had Thranduil had to twist his tongue so many different ways and bring up sounds from so far down his throat. It was always awkward and had physically hurt when he’d first been learning to make certain appropriate noises for the language. The sound, too, was so rough and harsh against his ear, like an avalanche and the grinding of stone against stone all in one. It was a coarse, ugly language, and Thranduil hated listening to it almost as much as having to speak it. 

What had truly made it worst yet, besides the utter sting of betrayal he felt towards his great-uncle, had been the fact that Sigird was a severe task master. He drilled and drilled and drilled Thranduil until the elf had felt like his tongue would fall off. They repeated lessons over and over and over until the dwarf was satisfied. And he was rarely satisfied. Even when the young elf had thought he got a word or phrase down, Sigird would yell and force his pupil to redo it. 

Learning the letters had been the easiest part of the whole affair. However, Sigird had quizzed Thranduil on so many other things too, that when they would come back to letters and the elf misspoke a sound or—Valar forbid—had forgotten one, a scolding and crack of a cane across the knuckles was the elf’s only reward. After only his first lesson, Thranduil had worked feverishly to completely memorize everything for fear of bruises. 

Actually speaking Khuzdul, however, had proven to be much, much harder than even memorizing the ruins or phrases. But somehow, like all his other lessons, Thranduil had survived, and his throat hadn’t been permanently damaged in the process. And within several months, King Thingol had his own, private translator. 

As Thranduil suffered, finding new meaning in the word ‘misery,’ his father had been ecstatic with the whole affair, not bothering to save his son from the cruelty of dwarves or the misuse from great-uncles.

“It is a great honor!” Oropher had told his son. “I wager you will be stationed to guard the king personally when in meetings with the dwarves. No one will suspect a lowly guard of knowing the language. And if the little creatures try to swindle us in a deal, the king will know about it because of you! It’s really quite a genius idea. Very honorable indeed.” 

When put like that, it had, at first, been easy to devote himself more fully to the lessons, to hold back the resentment he felt at being tricked into such services. But as time went by, and when he had actually been stationed with the king after learning the language, and sat in the many meetings with the dwarves that came to do business in Doriath, Thranduil found any excitement over the prospect of being a ‘spy’ drain away quickly. Thus far, the most sinister plots he’d uncovered in his years of service was overhearing a dwarf complaining about the food and another mistaking the king for a female upon first meeting. Apparently the lack of beards really threw them. 

But coming out of the memories, the young elf bit back a sigh as he focused back on the discussion at hand. The ring leader for the dwarves was bargaining for food stuffs in exchange for gems, and the rest of his company was quiet. Nothing to eavesdrop on. It was the same old routine.

At the king’s right hand was, of course, Celeborn, who was studiously taking mental notes, looking far too serious to be taken seriously, in Thranduil’s humble opinion. And beside the elven lord was his father. If Celeborn was serious, Oropher was outright grim. The model of perfection in the king’s Royal Guard. Tall, stark, dressed sharply in his armor, Oropher made for an imposing sight. By looks alone, he was not the sort of elf anyone wanted to mess with. The king’s great-nephew knew a hundred ways to kill a person with minimal effort, and then a few hundred ways more if things got brutal. 

On the other side of the king, Thranduil knew he was less than impressive. While slightly taller than his father, wearing in the same armor and the same helmet, the younger elf knew he came off less intimidating. At first he’d been frustrated with this fact, wanting the same respect his father received, until he realized that his boredom always gave him away. It was hard to look frightening and wishing someone would stab you in the face at the same time. So he’d largely given up trying to be like his father, and concerned himself with surviving the monotonous hours of standing still and not moving. 

Movement by the head dwarf grabbed the young elf’s attention, and he watched as the small creature took a few steps forward, presenting a list of goods to the king. Instantly Oropher came forward and took the offered parchment, checking it over before giving it to the king. It was all so theatrical. It was as though they thought that a flimsy piece of parchment would suddenly catch fire. It wasn’t like it was a snake that could poison the king. Yet, as always, protocol prevailed, and it dictated that the king’s guards stop anything and everything from coming directly to the king for his own protection. Because how would they all survive if the king should suffer a paper cut? 

As the dwarf backed away quickly, eyes wide as he stared at Oropher in fear, a light breeze came through, bringing with it a curious scent. Squinting slightly, Thranduil’s nose twitched. What was that smell? It was horrible. Was it coming from the dwarves? Surely it wasn’t from something else within the palace. 

King Thingol didn’t seem to notice the smell. As he scanned over the list given to him, he nodded slowly. “This is acceptable,” he replied evenly, handing the parchment back to Oropher, who in turn, gave it back to the dwarves. Thranduil’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I will see to it that the supplies is ready for you within the next day,” the king said, glance to Celeborn, who was already nodding that it could be done. 

“Thank you, your highness,” the dwarf bowed low, beard wagging. It looked utterly ridiculous. 

Just thinking about the beard, how coarse and scratchy it appeared, had the blond’s nose scrunching up quite against his own will. His eyes began to water as he fought off a sneeze. But as the dwarf straightened, a small gust of air wafting up towards the young elf along with that smell. Thranduil couldn’t hold it back anymore. He sneezed. 

The sneeze was loud, made louder by the clinking of his armor as he hunched forward in a last minute attempt to cover his nose. Everyone in the room jumped at the unexpected sound. While the dwarves all startled, as though expected to fend off an attack, the king snapped his heads towards the source, hands gripping tightly to the throne. Celeborn and Oropher both dropped into defensive positions, his father’s spear coming to aim at his son. 

Had it been any other situation, Thranduil would have laughed. Indeed, he was tempted by the expressions of pure confused fear around the room. With how jumpy they all were, one would think that Morgoth himself had burst through the wall. But since it was court and no one here would share his sense of humor, and because he had just embarrassed himself so completely, all Thranduil could do was straighten back up, fighting off the blush he felt burning his face. He also chose to pretend he didn’t notice his father’s eyes closing, a pained expression crossing his features. There was sure to be a lecture in his future. 

But once everyone realized the Enemy hadn’t come, the dwarves all straightened, laughing nervously. And while Oropher appeared almost as embarrassed as his son, Celeborn gave a small shake of his head. King Thingol looked displeased with the small ordeal, and shot an irritated look his great-great nephew’s way. 

“Is there anything else we must discuss?” the king asked politely, refusing to favor his young guard with another look. 

“No, my lord. Thank you for yer time,” the dwarf bowed, a smirk on his face. 

The High King smiled benevolently, but there was a certain sense of hostility underneath that the young elf knew was aimed at him. “It has been a pleasure doing business. Now, allow my guard to escort you to your rooms.”

The temptation to groan was almost too great to overcome, but Thranduil refused to embarrass himself twice in one day. So, knowing it was both his duty, as well as a cruel punishment, he walked stiffly down the steps from beside the throne and to the dwarves. Without stopping, lest they see how red his face had become, the young elf proceeded to the door, knowing that he would be followed. 

The only bright side to the entire event was that this gave him something to do. The downside, however, was having to walk with a group of dwarves to the chambers they would be staying in while guests while listen in on their conversations about what had just happened in the throne room. That was Thranduil’s job, and usually he wouldn’t have minded spying in on their gossip so much if it hadn’t been for the fact that at the moment, their entire focus was on him. 

When they had walked an appropriate distance away, a younger looking dwarf whispered to another in Khuzdul, “I didn’t think that elves could sneeze.” The seriousness of the statement caused the young elf’s face to burn. “D’ya think he’s sick? I didn’t think elves got sick.”

“Elves can’t get sick,” another argued quietly. 

“Then why did he sneeze?” the young one insisted. “Maybe we oughtta make sure we don’t catch some elf disease.”

“There’s nothin’ to catch! Elf’s probably just allergic to something.”

“Can elves even be allergic to anything?” another chimed in. 

Of all the humiliations to have ever befallen him, this was right up on his top ten list. It was one thing having to listen in on gossip about other elves, but to hear them whispering about him? Thranduil was severely tempted to turn around and tell them to shut their mouths before he did it for them, but knew he couldn’t. Not because they were guests, but because his knowledge of Khuzdul was a fairly guarded secret. No one, especially not visiting dwarves, was to know that one of the king’s guards could understand the language. It gave King Thingol an edge. 

So, biting his tongue, wondering how badly he’d get lectured by his father tonight, the young elf stared straight ahead, working to keep his face neutral while fighting down his blush. It wasn’t the first time he’d messed up, but it was the first time in front of the king. Even after sixty years, Thranduil felt like an elfling playing guard. Nothing he ever did seemed good enough or to measure up to his father’s expectations. He never stood straight enough, never stood still enough, never kept his face blank enough. Had Oropher not been his father, Thranduil was sure the head of the king’s personal guard would have deemed him unfit to serve years ago. 

But as it was, for better or worse, Oropher was his father, and thus, kept working on his son, trying to mold him into the perfect guard. To be fair, it wasn’t the training that Thranduil disliked and found difficult. In the physical aspect of things he excelled. The trainers even declared him the best among his peers and moved him to train with more experienced warriors. There wasn’t a stronger or more nimble elf around. He was fast, smart, and good. 

What the young elf lacked, however, was patience and mental discipline. Or at least, that’s what his father said. It was the standing for hours with nothing but staring that bothered Thranduil. He was more an elf of action, he liked to keep busy. But when he was on guard duty, there was nothing to do. He could listen in on conversations, was expected to when it came to dwarves, but that was hardly interesting. What others deemed worthy to whisper about was rarely juicy enough to interest him. And the few secrets he had come across he couldn’t even talk about. He was under oath to keep the royal secrets, after all. 

After far too long a walk, they finally arrived at the guest wing. Thranduil imagined shoving the dwarves all inside and shutting them in so he could go hide for the next one hundred years, but knew better. Instead, he pulled open the door, all polite stiffness, just as procedure dictated, and gestured for them to enter. They eyed him with varying degrees of amusement or suspicion, before entering. 

As they looked around, getting a feel for where they would be living the next day or so, the blond came to stand within the doorway. He did not enter, he was not invited, and it was important to remain as well-mannered as possible when escorting guests. That was one of the first rules learned when training to be in the king’s guard. Keep quiet, do your job, and be polite. That’s what their motto should have been.…And die of boredom, Thranduil snorted mentally.

“If there is anything else you require,” he spoke, stopping a quiet squabble between the young dwarf and one of the others as they still debated what the sneeze had really been about. “—please do not hesitate to ask. A servant will be by shortly to inquire after any needs.”

With a slight dip of the head, the blond turned on his heels and shut the door. The moment the dwarves were no longer in sight, the elf breathed out in not quite a sigh. Sighing was prohibited while on duty. Thranduil had never found where that was stated in the rules, but after the first week of duty, he father had issued the order. Apparently he had a tendency to sigh. 

So, with that burden complete, feeling his face cooling down, Thranduil marched back towards the throne room. It was all of his previous drilling that had him walking back briskly rather than dragging his feet. He knew he had embarrassed the king, had embarrassed all of them, actually, and the thought of returning so that he could get glared at by Thingol and Celeborn wasn’t exactly something that appealed to him. But at least if he went back, those two would ignore him, carrying on with other business. No, the real terror would be his father. The moment they were alone together, he just knew he’d get an earful.

If he snuck home right after his shift, he could always hide behind his mother, refusing to leave her side. While a rather fragile looking woman, Calassiel could be surprisingly vicious when defending her baby, and Thranduil was not ashamed to say he’d used her on more than one occasion to get out of being scolded by his father. Because when upset or angry, there was nothing more horrifying than an enraged elleth who doesn’t want her quality time with her son ruined. 

Thranduil nodded to himself. It was settled. As soon as he was finished with his shift, he’d run home as fast as possible, hopefully before his father could get there first, and offer to help bake pies with his mother. Apple sounded good. It didn’t sound too suspicious to want to bake one or two or six pies with his mother, right? 

The door to the throne room came into view much sooner than he would have liked. But, having actually learned something from his father, the young ellon was able to wipe his face clean of emotions, appearing as casually neutral as possible. Or at least he hoped he looked that way. After all, no one could embarrass him if he didn’t look embarrassed, right? All he needed to do was dissuade anyone from bringing up the incident by looking unaffected. That usually worked for his father. 

But as he got closer, he noticed Celeborn standing by the door. Thranduil almost groaned, but stopped short. Groaning also happened to be prohibited while on duty. He really ought to make his father write down all these little rules, or at least help him look them up. Knowing Oropher as well as he did, the blond wouldn’t have been surprised if they really were actual rules. 

“Ah, Thranduil,” Celeborn greeted in a too pleasant voice. Thranduil bit the inside of his cheek to keep from scowling. “Anything to report?” 

Thinking back to all he’d overheard from the dwarves, and not exactly willing to tell his cousin about their concerns of elven disease or allergies, he shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Really?” the older elf asked, eyes sparkling. The blond felt his face tinge pink. 

“No, sir,” Thranduil repeated sharply. 

Celeborn laughed outright at his cousin’s expense. Was it too much to ask for to just die? Or at the very least have the floor crack open and swallow him? 

Apparently so, because the young ellon was made to suffer quietly until the other elf calmed. With a fond shake of his head, the silver haired prince smirked knowingly at his cousin. “You are too like your mother,” he said. 

Thranduil might have bristled at that statement, might have even been offended, save for the fact that he loved his mother. In fact, when he thought about it, he’d rather be like her than his father any given day. At least Calassiel was exciting. “Thank you, sir,” he replied seriously. 

The elder elf shook his head again before pointing away from the throne room. “Get out of here,” he commanded, humor lingering in his voice. “The king believes that you need…more training, let’s say.” 

A groan did escape the blond. “Is he really that mad? It was just a sneeze!” 

“You know perfectly well that the king prefers to present a certain image of himself to others.”

“I can understand that, but don’t you think this is a little harsh? It’s not my fault that awful smell made me sneeze!” 

“I didn’t smell anything,” Celeborn replied evenly. 

“How could you not?” Thranduil sneered. “I think those dwarves were wearing something…foul. It was horrible.”

“All the same,” his cousin said much more seriously this time, indicating the end of the conversation. “You’re to report to the training arena for the rest of the afternoon. Perhaps you can work with the potential guard candidates?” 

Tense shoulders fell in defeat. This was it then. Not only was Thranduil being shamefully dismissed for the day, he was going to have to head back to the training arena early and instruct the next group of guardsmen. It wasn’t that Thranduil disliked working with them. Quite the opposite, actually, as it meant he could spend some more time with Astar, but to suddenly show up when everyone knew he was supposed to be on duty…He would never live this down. 

With only a nod, Thranduil trudged away towards the training hall. Hopefully no one would ask him what had happened. Maybe he could even get away with making the others think he’d been reassigned for the day? A lovely thought, but he was sure he’d never get away with it. He was definitely going to hide behind his mother tonight. 

The training area was actually near the home of Oropher, the head of the king’s personal guard wanting to be close at hand should he be needed in any given emergency. It was a pleasant bonus for Thranduil when he got up early, never have to stumble very far once he got out of bed. It would also serve him now as he could beat his father home after their shifts. By the time Oropher arrived home, Thranduil hoped he and his mother would already be laughing and baking together. There would be no way his father could break them apart then. 

As he stepped into the training hall, shouts of greeting and jest were thrown his way immediately. “What’s the matter, Thranduil, the king get tired of looking at your ugly face?” Roars of laughter followed. 

Keep himself poised, the blond raised a superior brow. “For your information, Raendur, I was ordered to come back here to snap the weak little recruits like you into shape.”

Of course that got a rise from nearly everyone there, and between the taunts and laughter, it took the head trainer coming by to settle them. He gave one look at Thranduil, before shaking his head. “What’d you do today, child?” Tauro asked gruffly. 

Thranduil scowled back as he took off his helmet. “You all always assume I do something wrong,” he grumbled. 

The older elf frowned. “Well, don’t you?” 

There was no good reply to that. So, huffing in offense, the blond began peeling the armor off his body, relieved once the weight was gone. Grabbing his swords, he made his way towards the arena. “I’ll be in the far corner until you need me for a drill or something,” he called. 

“Come over in an hour,” Tauro called back cheerfully. “That way you can help me torture the recruits.” 

A collective groan was had by all the young elves there, which made Thranduil smile. Maybe being sent back early wasn’t all that bad. Sure the king was mad, but he always had something to be upset about. And with his mother’s assistance, Thranduil knew he could easily deflect his father’s anger. Which just left him with cutting out of the mind numbing boredom of standing still so he could practice with his swords and help torment the recruits. All in all, it wasn’t that bad of a punishment, he supposed, though he was still uncertain how long he could dodge his father’s sermon on proper behavior. 

Someone called to him the moment he stepped onto the field. Smiling brightly, seeing Astar running over to him, Thranduil waved. When the younger ellon reached him, clasping his arm with brotherly affection, he asked, “What are you doing here, melon?” 

The older ellon shrugged slightly, hoping his face wasn’t red. “I sneezed in court and embarrassed the king. No big deal.”

Astar stared at his friend with wide silver eyes, mouth agape, being his usual, completely over dramatic self. “You want?” 

“No big deal,” Thranduil repeated, before holding up his swords, grinning mischievously as the humor of the whole situation came back to him. “Now, defend yourself!” he cried in challenge. Raising his own sword, Astar laughed, and the two elves began their spar. 

It was easy to fall into rhythm with Astar. Thranduil had known Astar since the elfling had been born. Their fathers were close friends, having met when Medlinor was training to become a guard. Ever since then, Medlinor and Oropher had made it a point to get their families together for dinner every so often, and while the adults talked, Thranduil had watched after little Astar. He’d never minded much, because, despite what people would think, Thranduil liked children. Especially the ones who looked up to him so adoringly. 

As he spared with his oldest, truest friend, Thranduil couldn’t help smile as he remember the little elfling that had always trailed after him, looking up to him like an older brother. There was a sixty years difference between them, but now that Astar was finally at his majority, they would finally be able to do everything together, Astar becoming a full adult. 

Thranduil ended up admitting the whole story, how everyone had jumped at the sneeze, and even what the dwarves had said on the way to the room, as he could keep nothing from Astar. By the time he was finished with his pathetic tale, the two were laughing so hard they couldn’t even lift their arms. Everyone else in the arena stared at them, some demanding to be let in on the joke, but they couldn’t even breathe. And when Tauro came by, giving them his patented glare, the two realized that they were going to have to take their training more seriously. After all, this was supposed to be a punishment for Thranduil and training for Astar. 

By the time they were finished sparring, Thranduil was ordered by Tauro to help the younger elves with their sword motions. And after that, it was nearly time to finish up for the day. “Tomorrow we will primarily be working on archery,” Tauro called out over the recruits once they were all lined up. Thranduil stood beside the older guard, smirking at all of the younger elves as he eyed them superiorly. Several of them had to fight to keep from smiling back. 

Noticing Thranduil’s distractions, even catching the blond wiggling his thick eyebrows at the recruits in his attempt to get them to laugh out loud, Tauro cleared his throat, scowling. Of course the blond had quite a bit of experience feigning innocence, but unfortunately, Tauro knew him well. 

“I want you all to run twenty laps,” the instructor barked, frowning at his students, daring them to complain. “And,” he added with an evil smirk of his own, “Guard Thranduil will be running with you.”

All brow wiggling ceased and the younger guardsman scowled at the trainer. “Traitor,” he hissed, before walking over to the elves sulkily. Astar came over to him, smirking, before the group took off at a steady jog. There were a few who ran faster than the rest of the group, as it trying to prove something. Those were the type that took the guard recruiting too seriously and had no sense of humor. They were the kind of elves his father liked best, Thranduil thought bitterly. 

As they jogged together, towards the back of the pack, Astar laughed at his friend’s expense once more. “So, what do you think your father will say to you once you get home tonight?” he asked. 

Thinking of his earlier plan, he smiled sheepishly. “Actually,” he admitted quietly, “I’m hoping I won’t find out.”

The silver-haired ellon rolled his eyes. “You’re going to run to your nana aren’t you?” 

“Hey,” Thranduil snapped defensively, “you know as well as I do that the only thing my adar fears is Nana!” 

Astar laughed, shaking his head. “I can’t wait to be on guard duty with you,” he smiled. “Only a few more days until my one hundredth anniversary, then I’ll take the oath too!”

The younger ellon’s excitement over becoming a guard, pledging himself to the king, left a bad taste in Thranduil’s mouth, but he tried not to let it show. He had no desire to crush his friend’s dreams. It just wasn’t in him to tell the younger elf that once he bound himself to Thingol and the kingdom, it was for all eternity, or whenever the fortress would fall, Valar forbid. He couldn’t tell him how dull the work really was, and Thranduil even had more specialized training! 

Shaking his head from the melancholy thoughts, the blond changed the subject quickly towards Astar’s family and how they would be celebrating his big day. Thankfully the younger elf was too excited to notice the abrupt change of topic, and the pleasant mood of the evening returned. And once they were finished with their laps, they were able to grab their things and leave. Bidding his friend a pleasant evening and promising to get together soon, Thranduil trekked the short distance home. 

Walking through the door, he called out to his mother, alerting her that he was home. Calassiel peeked her head out of sitting room, beaming at his son. “You’re home early,” she smiled. 

Shrugging, before going towards his room to dump off his armor, he replied as casually as possible, “I thought maybe you’d like to spend some time together.” He gave her his most innocent smile. “I thought maybe we could make a pie together. Like we used to.”

Calassiel’s expression melted and she pressed her hands on her chest, tears shining in her eyes. “Of course we can, my heart!” she cried, grabbing his arm and leading him to the kitchen. “You know, I was just thinking we haven’t spent much time together lately. You’re always off with your father. Oh, I’m so happy you still think of your mother. What a good son you are!” 

Having secured his ally, Thranduil washed his hands and helped slice apples while his mother prepared the crusts, listening to her chat away merrily. There was no way his father would spoil this for her, not if he knew what was good for him. And so, pleased with himself, Thranduil stood by watching his mother flitter about, deciding that perhaps the day truly hadn’t been so terrible after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Okay, I know what you’re all thinking. This is all sounding very light and fluffy and sappy, but do be warned, this story will become incredibly dark. And, personally, I always got the impression that elves were rather light, cheerful people. I mean, they sing and dance all the time, and even laugh and make fun of Thorin and Co. when they travel to Rivendell. And considering Thranduil is young and has yet to even experience anything outside of Doriath, he’s more mischievous and perky. Again, be warned, that will all change. 
> 
> And okay, so blame Peter Jackson entirely for Thranduil speaking Khuzdul. I never seriously thought Thranduil would know Khuzdul, as few elves learned the language, believing it was ugly and difficult, but after watching DoS and Thranduil flipping out over Thorin cursing him in Khuzdul and apparently understanding it pretty damn well, I decided it would be interesting if he did know it.
> 
> As for the aging of elves, Tolkien had said that elves become adults between 50-100 years old. Since they’re immortal, I think they should reach adulthood, their ‘majority’ at age 100. And I believe I read that elves celebrate the conception day rather than the birthday like men or hobbits, because for elves, life begins at conception. So, if that confused you last chapter, sorry I forgot to say. 
> 
> Again reviews and feedback are more than welcome, I’d love to hear from you all! Thanks!


	3. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oropher decides it's time to teach Thranduil new lessons

Chapter Two: Patience

As it happened, Thranduil’s plan to deflect his father’s lecture had worked perfectly. By the time Oropher returned home, Calassiel had completely commandeered their son’s full attention. The two blonds were laughing so loudly by the time he walked through the door, the Captain of the King’s Guard was certain the whole of Doriath could hear them. The silver-hair ellon had been tempted to drag his wayward elfling out of the kitchen by his ear, to lecture him about manipulating his mother, but one bright smile from his wife and kiss to the cheek had him thinking better of it. It had been quite some time since mother and son had spent any real bonding time together. 

And of course Thranduil had realized that and capitalized on the fact. Deciding it would be best to leave the two alone for the evening, Oropher retreated to his chambers to take off his armor get ready for dinner. There would be time tomorrow to talk to his son about the happenings of the day. 

While taking off his armor, meticulous with his movements, he couldn’t help but frown over the events of the day. There simply didn’t appear to be a solution to temper his son’s poor behavior. The sneeze wasn’t really the issue. Such incidences happened. It wasn’t as though Thranduil had startled everyone on purpose and embarrassed himself. No, it wasn’t the sneeze that caused Oropher to frown, but the fact that this wasn’t the first time his son’s careless behavior led to mistakes. 

Thranduil was smart. Uncommonly so. And it wasn’t just fatherly pride talking. Oropher had been watching closely as his youngest son grew and came to recognized how intelligent the boy was. When putting his mind to a task, no one could accomplish more than his son. Thranduil had the right skill and determination to see anything through…if the elfling found it worthy of his time. 

Somewhere along the way between the sweet little elfling that had sat on his knee to the proud young ellon he was now, Thranduil had become…difficult. With a sigh, Oropher was forced to admit spoiled even. But it was not to be unexpected, he supposed. After the heart shattering loss of both Lindóma and then Faerval only a year later, both Oropher and Calassiel had found themselves feverishly protective of their youngest. The moment they had discovered Calassiel was pregnant a third time, both parents had agreed to keep this child safe from any and all harm. To protect him as they had failed to protect their other son and daughter. 

Unlike his siblings, Thranduil knew little of the war raging on in the world outside of Doriath, and that was the way Oropher liked it. There was no need for the boy to concern himself with the Noldor and their wars, with the stories of princesses and men running away together, of beasts so horrible they breathed flame, even if word still slipped into the protected realm and into the elfling’s ears. He knew his son was restless, believed he could handle the world, but he wasn’t, and Oropher was not going to let him go. He couldn’t. 

But between the spoiling and protectiveness, his son’s attitude was becoming less than ideal, and there was no one to blame but himself. Unlike his older siblings, Thranduil had developed a sense of superiority and pride. Oropher had first noticed it starkly when his son was about seventy, when the child had been playing with Astar. Even while very small, Astar had looked up to Thranduil, practically worshiping the ground his son walked on. Of course all the praise had gone straight to Thranduil’s head, feeding his inclination towards supremacy. 

This undesirably trait had carried into his son’s adulthood, tainting everything he did. It was not terrible, Oropher conceded, Thranduil was humble enough— thankfully— to know his place most of the time. But it was just bad enough that his son often came into new situations with his nose in the air if deemed unworthy. All his talents, his intelligence, he didn’t even use because he declared himself too bored to bother. 

There was no doubt in the captain’s mind that his son could make an excellent guardsmen. With enough time and diligence, Thranduil might even win over the favor of the king and be promoted to something much grander than a simple guard. Yet because of the boy’s inability to mind his manners, Oropher worried that his son would never get recognized, would never live up to his full potential. The fact that Thranduil didn’t even appear the least bit contrite after the day’s embarrassment, and even pulled his mother into it, told Oropher that his son not only didn’t take his work seriously, but that he was obviously not mature enough to handle the responsibilities placed upon him. 

It just made no sense to the guard captain. Thranduil had been give special honors in being selected to learn dwarvish. King Thingol had obviously seen the boy’s potential, had recognized the greatness resting just within, waiting to shine if given the chance. Why then did his son not try his hardest to work his way to the top? Neither Faerval nor Lindóma had been like their brother. Faerval had strove to become the best in whatever he did, becoming a great warrior until he’d been cut down too soon in the Dagor-nuin-Giliath, seeking to avenge the death of his sister. And Lindóma, sweet soul that she had been, had a quiet disposition, a nurturing and loving manner that reminded him so much of his own mother. 

There was no telling what ran through the mind of his youngest son, however. Thranduil had been a surprise to his parents, and would always continue to be. To this day neither Calassiel nor Oropher could figure out from where their youngest son had gotten his personality. They could not remember anyone within their families having ever been so brash or bold, nor proud and haughty. The Valar had an anomalous sense of humor indeed by giving them such a boisterous child long after gave up hope of keeping one. 

Sitting down on the bed, pulling off his boots, the silver-haired elf sighed quietly to himself. He sighed because no matter how frustrated he was with his son, no matter how much he failed to understand what was going on in that thick head of the boy, Oropher loved his son. As unexpected as he’d been, Thranduil had become the light and joy in both his parents’ world. Where once there had been a real fear of losing his wife to grief, having to fight to keep her with him in Arda, Thranduil had come and stolen his mother’s heart completely, anchoring her to life. And Oropher had to admit his heart was taken as well. 

No, Thranduil’s attitude was not truly the boy’s fault. It was Oropher’s. Valar help him, he’d indulged the child too much growing up. He’d allowed the elfling to have his way too often. There was no one to blame but himself. 

A frown came as he stood to put his boots away before walking back out to find his family. The sound of his wife and son’s laughter greeted him, warming his heart. No, he could not get upset with Thranduil, but he would be damned if he continued to fail his son. In the morning, he would see to setting things right. The proper lessons would have to be given, that was all. He could win over Thranduil yet. 

The moment he walked into the kitchen, Calassiel beamed at him, enchanting blue eyes sparkling with so much love and warmth. There had been a time when Oropher had greatly feared that the light in those brilliant orbs would be extinguished forever. Turning to his son, Thranduil even gave his father a bright smile, though his cheeks were dusted with pink. Maybe he was sorry for the embarrassment today. “Come sit!” his wife demanded, before either father or son could have a word. “Dinner is almost ready. And we will be having pie for dessert.”

Oropher looked towards his son as he sat, humoring his wife. “Your favorite,” he commented mildly. 

The younger ellon laughed nervously. “It is, isn’t it?” 

Yes, new training would have to be implemented, but not all hope was lost. He would not let his son waste his talents. But for the time being, he would sit to a nice dinner with his family. Tomorrow, the real work would begin. 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Since being a child, if there was one thing Thranduil had always banked upon, it was the fact that his father had no sense of humor. The next morning after the regrettable sneezing incident, the young elf discovered how wrong he really was. 

Almost three full hours earlier than normal, before even the sun could show her face, Oropher came barging into his son’s room. There was no shame in the blond when he let out a cry of utter surprise. It was especially warranted when his father yanked the covers down off of him, even going as far as to throw them off the bed completely, leaving no hope of curling back up comfortable to sleep. 

Like the true drill sergeant he could be, the Captain of the King’s Guard forced his son up out of bed, and had him dressing in his armor before Thranduil could rightly understand what he was doing. But when his brain finally caught up with his body, the blond was already being marched out the door and towards the training arena, his father right behind him, barking out orders to keep him moving. 

And that was just the beginning. As soon as they arrived to the training arena, Oropher forced his son, in full armor, to run ten lapse around the field. It wasn’t that it was necessarily hard, because it was manageable, but the fact that his father had cut in on his sleep, his father forcing him into a dead run around the track, dressed as though going into battle, made the task that much harder. There was no disobeying that tone of voice when Oropher was screaming at him to keep up his pace. Thranduil was convinced that even Morgoth himself would think twice if Oropher was screaming abuse at him like this. And when he had finally completed his lapse, sweating and panting, he expected his father to launch in on his lecture he hadn’t been able to make the night before now that the blond was too exhausted to think of excused. Or to run away, he thought in cynical amusement. 

Sadly, that wasn’t the case. Instead of making his usual speech about responsibility and awareness, Oropher barked out more commands. Instead of running normal lapse again, however, the captain ordered his son to run the obstacle course. In full armor. Thranduil paled slightly. He’d never done that before. Only the older, most experienced elves could manage to do that, and then most of them not even in a reasonable amount of time. 

But just as he opened his mouth to argue with his father, Thranduil found himself facing not his adar, but his commanding officer. There was no reasoning with him when he got like this. Oropher must have been truly embarrassed yesterday if he was torturing his son like this. 

So, screwing up his courage, the blond took off at a steady run, before dropping to his stomach to crawl under the ropes that had been placed only several inches above the ground that marked the beginning of the course. It was slow going, and Thranduil felt like an idiot as he tried to move through the muck while in his armor. It was awkward to keep his head down low enough so that his helmet wouldn’t hit the rope, but if he went down too far, he would end up eating the mud. But if he didn’t do that then he would fail. And if he failed, he knew his father would make him start over again. 

Failure was not an option. His own pride demanded that he complete this the first time. 

With the utmost reluctance, Thranduil kept low, squirming through as best as he could, trying desperately to ignore all the foulness that got into his mouth. And once that torture was over, he floundered to his feet before staggering off as best as he could while covered in thick grim to climb up the sheer wooden wall before him. There was nothing to help him climb, no rope, no ladder. The only way to ascend was with the few notched that had been carved out. And while covered in mud, it was all but impossible. 

There was nothing else for it, though. So, grinding his teeth, Thranduil shoved his hands into the nearest hole he found, and began climbing upwards. He knew even as he went up he looked utterly ridiculous. It was all but impossible to climb! He kept slipping and sliding back down, falling down on his butt like a toddler learning to walk. After the fifth time, an enraged growl tore out of his lips and Thranduil got up and started climbing again. 

It was a slow, sloppy go, and he lost his footing and holding several times, but managed to save himself. And when he got to the top of the wall, he felt like crying in relief. But just as he was congratulating himself, reality came back and he realized that the rope that was usually there to help trainees slide down was missing. He was going to have to climb down. Or fall, he thought bitterly, as he swung his legs over and began to make his decent. 

Unfortunately for him, he actually did fall, there still having been mud caked to his boots, and he fell a good three meters on his back. Hard. All the air had been forced from of his lungs, and once the shock had worn off a bit and he was able to breathe again, Thranduil mumbled a curse. Rolling over on his side, he managed to stand, and stumbled forward on to the next obstacle, his ears still ringing from the drop. 

The rest of the course went just about as abysmally as the first two challenges. Never before had Thranduil ever felt so utterly inept and worthless. With every clang he made while attempting to go through the narrow tunnels, even getting stuck for a little while, he winced. Every time he tripped while trying to navigate through the pit holes, he felt like a complete moron. While trying the run across the balance beam and falling over from overcompensation, he longed to just slip away into a corner and die. He actually fell on his face when trying to run through the wheels, unable to keep his knees high enough. 

By the time he had actually managed to complete all of the course, he was sweating, panting hard. His face was red, and not completely from the exertion. He was utterly humiliated. Never before had he failed at something so badly. And in front of his father no less! The only comfort was that no one else had seen him make a total fool of himself. 

When he managed to sneak a glance at his father, Thranduil expected to see disappointment, even anger on his father’s face for his son’s failure. Instead, the face slack, relaxed, a thoughtful look on Oropher’s countenance. “For your first attempt on the more difficult course that was…not dreadful.”

The blond baulked. “Are you serious? I was terrible!” 

“Yes,” Oropher agreed easily, a hard blow to his son’s pride. “But it is also your beginning. Not everyone who attempts this course manages to complete it their first time. This shows that you have room to improve,” he said pointedly, causing his son to wince at the hidden rebuke. 

“Now,” the older elf said, putting his own helmet on his head. “Watch. Study. Learn.” 

And without another word, Thranduil watched as he father took off at a dead run and onto the obstacle course. He gawked openly as Oropher literally dove into the mud and under the rope, popping up at the end in only a matter of seconds before once again running at full speed towards the wall. Without a moment’s hesitation, the silver-haired elf was crawling up with the ease of a spider, before jumping down from the top, curling up into a ball so that he could roll to ease the impact, before popping up and sprinting off again. 

Obstacle after obstacle his father tackled with such ease, such grace, it was as though Oropher wasn’t even trying. Thranduil had always known that his father was good, that he had to be good to be the king’s guard captain, but at the same time, the blond realized he’d never seen his father actually practice before. Not to his appropriate skill level at least. Every time he’d seen Oropher train, it was always when the elf was teaching, helping others improve themselves. 

In less than four minutes, Oropher had completed the entire course in what had taken his son twenty. All the young ellon could do was stare in utter amazement while his adar took a few deep breaths through his nose, out his mouth, before he was completely calm again. The redness of Thranduil’s face turned a deeper shade of crimson. 

“We will do this every morning together until you can complete it in five minutes,” Oropher declared to his still flabbergasted offspring. “Once you have mastered this course, you will be move up permanently to join my elite team.”

“Really?” Thranduil could not keep the surprise or awe from his voice. 

The elder elf favored his son with a small smile. “Yes. Once you have mastered this course, and,” he added, “one more test.”

“What’s that?” the blond asked excitedly. He would do anything to join his father’s elite. The Praetorian Guard were the ones that were sent outside of the city, sometimes to help the warriors on patrol, or—on a few rare occasions—to deliver private messages from the king to other elven realms if not even the usual heralds could be trusted. The Praetorian Guard were the best of the best, the king’s choice men, and Thranduil would do anything to join. 

He’d never seriously thought his father would consider him for the duty, always too afraid to let his son do anything. But this was his chance. This was what he’d been waiting for, for so long he’d almost given up. This was his opportunity to obtain a little piece of recognition. Of getting a job he actually liked. 

Again, smiling that small, private smile only used with his family when alone, Oropher nodded towards the bathhouse. “You will see. But first, we must clean up. Come.”

Like an eager elfling at Yuletide, Thranduil followed quickly. While the morning had started off as probably the worst of his life, it was quickly becoming very exciting. Sure, the training to become one of the elite wouldn’t be easy—by any means— but Thranduil wanted to pass. Needed to pass. Not every elf was trained to the same caliber as his father, after all, not even all the warriors that patrolled outside along the boarders were as capable as Oropher. He hadn’t even known his father was looking for a new member of the Praetorian, but now that he did, there was nothing that would stand in Thranduil’s way from getting in. 

As father and son made it back towards the bath area, they stripped out of their armor and soiled clothes, and washed up. Thranduil was a little disconcerted when his father threw him a clean outfit. When had he gotten those? Had Oropher really grabbed them before waking his son so rudely? The fact that he hadn’t heard the elder elf at all while his slept didn’t sit well with Thranduil. Did his father do it often? Should he be concerned? 

But after muttering only a ‘thanks,’ he washed and changed, relieved to get all the filth out of his hair. And when he was finished, he saw his father already sitting on one of the long benches, pulling out some rags to clean off their armor. The silver-haired ellon waved his son over, and together, they began cleaning. 

Restless, Thranduil scrapped off the mud, mind wandering over his new training. He wondered if he’d get new armor or a special pin or something. His father only wore a different colored sash around his waist, signifying his authority, so the blond supposed he probably wouldn’t get anything too special. But that was all right. He was still so excited. And here he’d thought this morning that Oropher was just going to yell at him about the other day, about how much of a mess up he was at being a guard. He couldn’t have been more wrong! His father thought he was good enough to be in the Praetorian. The young elf took a moment to bask in the glow of self-satisfaction. 

“Careful, ion nin,” Oropher scolded gently, forcing the younger elf from his thoughts. “You must be careful. Easy. It is not a race to see who can finish cleaning first.”

Looking down at his armor, the blond realized he’d been smearing the mud around more than cleaning it away. Turning back to his father, it was easy to see that Oropher had been methodically scrubbing, his movements were slow, almost languid, hands going around in gentle circles. 

“Concentrate on what you’re doing,” the captain replied, his voice low, soothing. “As you clean, study your armor. Learn what you can. Each and every crevasse, bend, and shape should be known to you. It is a part of you. Learn about yourself from it.”

There was a scolding tone underneath the words, yet Thranduil took it as the lesson it was meant to be. Forcing his hands slower, staring down intently at the metal, the blond tried to focus on the task at hand. While he was uncertain as to how any of this would be useful, he did recognize that this must have been a test on his worthiness to become part of the elite. If everyone in the Praetorian knew and understood this lesson, then Thranduil would do his best to understand too. 

By the time the two were finishing with their armor, other elves came in, trainers, recruits, and even some seasoned veterans. By that time, the young elf’s eyes were burning holes through his armor in his attempt to study. Thranduil wasn’t sure what he actually learned from it, but he had come to notice the smaller details of the metal and leather. For instance, he’d never bothered to see that around his collar, there was a small green leafy vine detailed into it. His father had the same, but no one else appeared to. It was to identify him as part of Thingol’s family, his father explained, noticing his son’s particular attention to design. It marked him as a prince. 

Beaming at having actually really having learned something, Thranduil quickly stood and put back on the armor, prouder than before, just as his father stood, too. It was difficult to keep his actions even, wanting to throw on the armor and be done with it. But his father was taking his time, movements measured, and wanting to please and impress his father, wanting Oropher to know that his lessons weren’t going in one ear and out the other, the younger guard forced himself to remain cool. 

Oropher motioned for them to leave. More than willing to comply with his father’s demands, Thranduil fell into step behind the elder ellon. The other elves still coming in eyed the pair, bowing their heads in respect for the captain before shooting questioning looks at the blond. Just behind the silver-haired elf, Thranduil smirked, winking occasionally at some of the few he didn’t particularly care for. It was always easy to egg them on, and he enjoyed their scowls. 

Nothing would bring him down. He saw Astar walking down the hall, on his way for the day’s training, and sent his father a pleading look. Oropher nodded, and Thranduil quickly ran over to his friend. The younger elf smiled brightly, waving. “What are you doing this way so early? Aren’t you on duty today?” the silver-haired elfling asked. 

“Yes,” Thranduil nodded. “But I had other things to do first this morning. Are you free tonight? I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

It was clear to see the excitement on the taller elf’s face, the maniac smile probably having something to do with it. Astar laughed, but nodded. “We can meet here at the arena if you’d like, after you’re finished with your shift.”

“Perfect,” the blond agreed, before waving goodbye and following after his father, a spring in his step.

When they made it to the throne room door, Oropher did not turn to enter. Instead he continued on down the hall. Thranduil paused at the door, frowning, before rushing back over to his father. “Umm…Ada, aren’t we scheduled to stand with the king again today?” 

“I’ve decided to reassign you for the day, son,” Oropher said simply, continuing on in his even strides. 

Brightening at the thought of not having to stand behind Thingol all day attempting to count how many hairs were on the king’s head, the younger elf was already nodding in agreement. Maybe his father had some sort of other special training for him to do today? Maybe it was something more to help him get into the Praetorian Guard? He could not wait to tell Astar about it later tonight. The elfling would be so jealous! 

All excitement stalled, however, when they walked into the southern wing. The southern wing was mostly unused, having been built to house dignitaries from other elven realms before the kin slaying, before the king forbade the Noldor from entering his kingdom, save those specially invited. Now it was mostly used for storage, or when guests such as dwarven traders stayed when they were here. Thranduil shuddered at the thought of seeing those traders again today after his embarrassment from the day before. 

But finally the captain of the guard stopped, dismissing another guard that had been on duty outside an empty, his son got the very bad feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next. “Until further notice, you are assigned to guard here,” Oropher said, an air of authority in his voice. 

Thranduil felt his jaw drop. “Ada!” he cried, unable to help feel a sting of betrayal. “You can’t be serious.” 

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “I am serious,” his father’s tone was sharp. “You are to report here every morning from now on until I say otherwise.”

“But…But why?” the younger elf floundered to think of why he was being punished so severely. Only newly inducted guards were assigned the southern wing, and Thranduil had been fortunate new to have been assigned here—save once when a guard needed off due to his wife giving birth—due to his special training in Khuzdul. As lowly as he was on the totem pole of commander, even he was too qualified for this position. 

“Because it’s time you learn control,” Oropher stated sternly. “I’ve indulged you far too much. It’s time now that you put aside your childishness and become serious about your work.”

“I am serious!” Thranduil argued, only realizing too late that he wasn’t helping his cause. 

His father raised an unimpressed brow. “While you are here, I want you to do more than simply stand still,” Oropher began, not even gracing his son’s outburst with a response. “While you are here, I want you to listen.” 

“To what? The silence?” the younger elf asked bitterly. 

To his surprise, Oropher nodded. “Yes.” Thranduil blinked. “Listen to everything around you. Listen to the silence. To the stone. To these halls. Listen to the life buzzing within just beyond your sight. Listen to the earth, to the trees. Great warriors are those who can adapt to their surroundings, can listen and wait. You must learn patience, Thranduil. Learn this, and many more opportunities will be open to you.”

There was nothing he could say to that. The look in his father’s eyes stalled any argument or sass he might have thrown at him had Oropher been anyone else. It was the same look his father had given to him when Thranduil had been about to make his pledge to the king. That same pleading look for understanding, for obedience. There was no way he would be changing his father’s mind, and with reluctant acceptance, the blond bowed his head in submission. 

Nodding in satisfaction, the elder elf motioned to the doorway his son would be standing in for the better part of eight hours. Guards were placed every so often down this hall in case of a security breach, though the likeliness of this happening was slim to none. Both of them knew that. This wasn’t a job so much as test. If Thranduil couldn’t accomplish here what his father wished, there was no way he would be accepted into the Praetorian. 

“Learn patience,” the Captain of the King’s Guard commanded, before he turned on his heels and walked back the way he had come. 

Scowling bitterly at his father’s back, Thranduil straightened up in the doorway assigned to him, and stared straight ahead. Patience, he sneered to himself. I am patient! I don’t need some pointless assignment to show I am patient! 

But there was a part of him that knew his father was not wrong in his assessment of his son. There was a part of the young ellon that recognized his impatience and the fact that he was not the best, as much as it stung his pride. His failure that morning on the obstacle course came back to haunt him. 

So, straightening up, relaxing his features, doing his best to behave more the like the guard he ought, to do as he was bid and listen to the sounds of Doriath, Thranduil took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He could do this. He could learn, he could be patient. He could do this. 

“Hey! Isn’t that the sick elf from yesterday?” 

“I think so. I remember them eyebrows.”

And so, forced to remain absolutely still, Thranduil was required to listen to curious Khuzdul chatter until the dwarves wandered off to see to their duties for the day. The sounds of Doriath were left behind as he tried simply to ignore the raging in his own mind. Maybe this would be harder than he’d thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I think Oropher’s a good father…he just doesn’t know how to handle Thranduil. 
> 
> My own history: I gave Oropher and Calassiel two other children before Thranduil. In case you’re interested, Faerval is the eldest son, born 1300 in the Years of the Trees, before the Sun and Moon. He was killed, as stated, in Dagor-nuin-Giliath (Battle-under-Stars) in 1497 Years of the Trees. Lindóma is the daughter of Oropher, born 1451 Years of the Trees. She was a civilian casualty in the First Battle of Beleriand, before the Girdle of Melian was set around Doriath in 1496 (the only battle Thingol took active part in). And while deciding not to have anymore children, Thranduil decided he wanted to be born in the First Age 312, in the middle of the Long Peace. 
> 
> Quick little history of the family for you as I’ve planned it. More about them all will be scattered throughout the story. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the support I’ve gotten thus far. It means a lot since I’ve plotted out my own timeline and studied so much just so I could make this enjoyable. Hope to hear from you all again and I hope you love this family as much as I do. :)


	4. Brewing Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Oropher begin reconsidering their choices

Chapter Three: Brewing Storms

Eight hours had never passed so slowly in Thranduil’s life. Try as he might to listen to the sounds of Doriath, to find the deeper meaning that his father seemed to think existed in the walls of Menegroth, all the young elf could hear was the intense sound of silence. That and when the dwarrow merchants went bumbling about back and forth to their assigned rooms. That was delightful. Besides their speculations about whether or not he was the same elf that had sneezed from the day before—“I’m positive he is!”—Thranduil found out little useful information. He did learn, however, that the dwarves thought most elves looked the same, and that they apparently had an unhealthy obsession with his eyebrows—“Just imagine if he had a beard as thick as those brows!” 

So when his replacement came―late!― it was understandable that Thranduil was not in a very pleasant mood. The minute the other guard opened his mouth to explain himself, the blond turned and stalked away, not saying a word. It would not have been good had he stayed to listen to anything his comrade had to say, lest he snap. After all, he’d done his part. He’d completed his duty. What was there to chat about? It wasn’t like anything happened that he needed to report. 

Most of the elves he encountered apparently realized he was in a foul mood, and stayed out of his way, giving a generous breadth. It made him feel slightly better knowing he could inspire such action. He wasn’t in the mood to make small talk or pretend to smile at anyone at the moment. Wouldn’t his ada be so proud, he kept his face straight and neutral until he made it to the training area and everything! When he arrived, he found Astar, one of the last elves still lingering about. 

Hearing the rather grumpy stomping, Astar looked up at his entrance. “Mellon!” The younger elf stood to greet him. “Where have you been? I was just going to come look for…are you all right?” 

Grabbing his helmet, Thranduil threw it down on the ground a touch too hard and slouched down on the bench. Astar stared at him, a puzzled expression clear on his face, before he took his seat again. They remained in silence several minutes before Thranduil sighed, unable to keep quiet anymore. “I had a bad day.”

The silver-haired elf smirked. “I couldn’t tell.”

“I mean it!” the elder snapped, feeling only slightly bad for taking his anger out on Astar. But his friend understood him well enough, knew his moods better than anyone. 

Thankfully, the recruit didn’t flinch at the acidic words being spewed in his face. Instead, he allowed his friend to stew in his frustration for a few more seconds before asking, “Are you going to tell me what happened or not?” 

“It’s my father!” Thranduil exclaimed, exploding, feeling helpless to stop the tirade that had been building up all day. “I don’t understand him at all!” 

“Ah!” Astar nodded wisely. “Finally lectured you about yesterday?” 

“No!” the blond slumped sideways dramatically, half off the bench, one arm dangling in the dirt. “He wakes me up before the sun without an explanation, forces me to run laps and then do the obstacle course in full armor!” 

That finally drew the reaction the older elf wanted, and he watched as his friend winced in sympathy. “How did that go?” 

“Terrible! How do you think it went?” the blond bristled defensively. “And then when I failed so completely, he takes off running and completes the course in four minutes!” 

Astar whistled in appreciation. “Only four?” 

“And when he’s done,” Thranduil went on, ignoring his friend’s lack of sympathy, “he looks at me and tells me that he wants me for the Praetorian.”

That grabbed the silver-hair ellon’s full attention. “Wow! Really? Congratulations!” he smiled sincerely. “I knew you could get in.”

“Of course I could get in!” Thranduil replied tartly, unaware of the conceit in his tone. “But he said before I could be accepted, I need to pass the obstacle course in five minutes.”

“You can do that.”

“Of course I can,” the haughtiness only grew, his mind more focused on his anger than words. “But that’s not all. He’s assigned me to the southern wing.” Astar winced. “Says I must ‘learn patience’ and basically believes that I’m inadequate to do anything! He wants me to stand hours upon hours with absolutely nothing to listen to except the walls. Heh!” he laughed mirthlessly. “He even told me I could learn from them!” 

The two elves fell into an uneasy silence as Thranduil picked at his armor, the same wretched shell he’d actually been trying to learn from that morning. To think, he’d actually been expecting the day to go well. What a joke. Maybe this was all some form of elaborate punishment and his father wasn’t even going to promote him to the elite guards at all. Maybe today had been about teaching him a lesson in proper behavior, though the young ellon would be hard pressed to understand what that lesson was. 

Just when the quiet was becoming too much, mercifully the younger elf spoke. “I’m sure that it will get better, mellon. Perhaps if you talked with him in a day or so he will relent?” 

The blond scowled. “I’ll be dead by then. Dead from boredom. Or worse, embarrassment. If I have to listen to those dwarves talk about my eyebrows again, I’m going to cleave their heads in two. I swear it.”

“In their defense, you do have thick brows,” Astar replied cheerfully, having no concern for his friend’s feelings. 

So, without remorse, Thranduil shoved the other elf off the bench completely with a hard shove. The younger elf laughed as he sat up, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He did not, however, offer an apology. Instead, his eyes widened, and he beamed over at his friend as he stood. “Wait! I just remembered! I have news for you!” 

“Yes, I know,” the elder elf drawled. “Your anniversary is in four days. You don’t need to remind me every two seconds,” he snapped ungenerously. 

Again, it was fortunate that his friend understood his temperament so well. The recruit shook his head, still wearing an excited expression as he regained his seat rather than scowling as anyone else would have. “Not that. Remember how you told me of the message Maedhros sent to the king several years ago?”

“Shh!” Blue eyes scanned the area as Thranduil’s hand slapped over the mouth of his tactless companion. “You’re not supposed to know about that, remember?” he hissed, glaring at his friend. 

Astar didn’t look the least bit repentant as he shoved the hand from off his mouth. “Well,” he dropped into a whisper, “I heard several ellyn from the guard along the borders talking of a great gathering. I heard that a battle is scheduled for the summer!” he beamed eagerly. “Can you believe it?” 

Thranduil sat up in shock. How was this possible? Such news…it was astonishing that such word had made it to Doriath, especially word of such magnitude. Thranduil was not a military expert― that sort of thing was best handled by Mablung or one of the generals― but he was fairly certain that the Noldor should not be spreading word so freely about their attack. What if there was a ,major information leak? It would be easy for the Dark Lord to counter any attack that was being coordinated. The fact that a lowly recruit for the guard of Doriath had caught wind was…unsettling. But he kept his musings to himself. 

“Are you sure?” he asked instead. Astar, while reliable, was known for being excitable. 

“Yes!” Astar nodded happily. “It’s getting close, mellon. Do you…do you think King Thingol will change his mind? Will he send us all to fight?” 

Thranduil shook his head, staring incredulously at his friend. “Are you joking? King Thingol is too much of a coward to send any aid to the Noldor,” he whispered boldly. “You remember what he did at the last Siege of Angband? Nothing. That’s his policy on everything. Talk big, strut arrogantly, and do nothing.”

Silver eyes lit up in admiration at the bold and slightly treacherous speech. “But surely he can’t sit back any longer? He can’t just let the Noldor get slaughtered again. You remember the stories that were told of Dagor Bragollach? He needs to help! We could help!”

“You underestimate his coldness,” Thranduil snorted, thinking of what he’d seen of his dear great-great uncle in the past. Despite what his father thought, he had paid attention most of the time while in the meetings he’d stood guard. Thus far his opinions of the king were less than brilliant. 

“I know Mablung and Beleg have fought to have the king take action. Maybe if your own father were to add his support…”

A sharp bark of laughter escaped the blond as he folded his arms across his chest, lifting a brow. “Are you joking? My father follows anything Thingol does without a thought of his own. He wouldn’t fight, even if the king were to grant him special permission to go. He’s just Thingol’s lackey.”

Astar’s shoulders slumped as he came to realize he was fighting a losing battle. Good. The elfling needed to learn that just because he wanted something badly didn’t mean he would get it. Thranduil had learned this lesson very well over the past several decades. 

“Well, they can’t expect to keep us all here forever,” Astar muttered after a pause. “How are we to attain any glory for ourselves if they won’t even let us leave?” 

Sitting up straighter, mimicking his father’s scowl perfectly, the elder friend gave the silver-haired elf a superior look. “‘There is no glory in war’,” he quoted smartly, remembering his father’s lectures acutely. “‘Only sorrow’.”

The recruit rolled his eyes, smiling wickedly as he gave a playful shove to the blond’s shoulder. “Quiet, Captain, no one asked you,” he laughed. 

“Cowards. All of them,” Thranduil muttered, tring to keep the sneer on his face, though a smile threated to take its place. “If I had the chance, you wouldn’t see me hiding in the walls of Menegroth. Not even one of those accursed fire beasts would stand in my way. I’d take on Morgoth myself if I could.”

It was probably not a good idea to talk so openly about such things, but Thranduil couldn’t help himself. He was getting so tired of being told what to say, what not to say, being told what to do, what not to do, of being ordered around all the time. He was getting sick of having to hide in Doriath when the whole world was open. If indeed the Sindar were so great, as King Thingol and his father seemed to think― always blue in the face as they spouted off its splendor ― what did they have to fear? It never ceased to disgust him how terribly spineless they were, always backing away from a fight. Perhaps if they had joined with the Noldor already, Morgoth would be defeated by now. 

But even if Thingol miraculously decided to take a stand and join the fight, Thranduil knew only too well that his father would never permit him to go to war. He knew as unfair as it was that his father did not have faith in him to fight the Darkness. His father believed he was too young and inexperienced, too untrustworthy. Of course Oropher had never said these things out loud, but the accusation in his eyes left little to the imagination. 

And while neither Oropher nor Calassiel had ever said anything to indicate it, Thranduil knew his father’s doubts also had something to do with the deaths of his older siblings. His parents never talked about what had happened to his brother and sister and rarely spoke of them. Sometime Thranduil even wondered if they had existed or if they were just part of some story his parents had invented to scare him into submission. If it wasn’t for catching his mother weeping every now and again at night, moaning their names, Thranduil would have seriously believed the latter. 

The world was much more wonderful a place than his parents would have him believe. They never talked of politics or any other happenings within the kingdom at home if they could help it. If a subject was deemed ‘too dangerous’ or controversial, they actively hide it from their son. In fact, Thranduil would have never heard about the princess’s amazing adventure to obtain the Silmaril had it not been for Astar mentioning it. As impossible as it sounded, he also hadn’t even known what the Silmaril were until he was about fifty. It still remained unknown to him how his parents were able to keep such information from him, no one even mentioning anything to him in passing, even as he was now a guard. It was only in the last few decades that he managed to hear anything of importance, and then he could rarely speak of those things because of his oath to the king. Silence was key to security, as his father would say. 

“If there were a way, mellon, I would leave now and join Maedhros or one of the other Noldor kings,” Thranduil growled, helpless to control the bitter resentment he felt. “Mark my words. The first chance I get, I’m out of here. They can’t keep me in Doriath forever.”

A hand clasped onto his arm, and when he looked up, silver orbs were shining brightly. “Don’t worry, Thranduil,” Astar said gently. “They’ll see. One day our names will be legendary.”

After quiet pledges to become more than they were, the two friends talked of other, safer topics. Once more Astar invited Thranduil to the celebration of his conception with his family that would held in several days, as if the blond had forgotten the date. The thought of spending an evening with his friend’s family already amused him. While Medlinor had no problems with Oropher’s son, his wife, Aeglosdes, was not Thranduil’s biggest fan. On more than one occasion she’d even accused him of being a ‘bad influence’ on her son. The allegation was completely preposterous. Astar was already terrible all on his own, he didn’t need Thranduil’s help. 

But as amusing as his friend’s mother could be, there was also Astar’s little sister, Maerwen. It never ceased to amaze Thranduil how different Astar and his sister were. With as excitable and energetic as Astar was, Maerwen was the complete opposite. Calm to the point of listlessness, sedate, Maerwen was everything her elder brother abhorred. At only forty-three, the young elleth was growing lovelier by the day, yet more disinterested with life in general. While he knew his friend loved his sister dearly, Astar had on more than one occasion declared how much he couldn’t stand her. At one point he had even seriously considered moving out of his parent’s home just to get away from her. They were too dissimilar to have much to talk about, and rarely spent more than an hour in each other’s company if they could manage. 

It was astonishing, really. Thranduil had never had many problems with the girl. In fact, he was always pleasantly surprised with the wit that came out of the elleth’s mouth. The last time he’d been over to Medlinor’s home, Maerwen had told her mother off when Aeglosdes had been fussing with the girl’s hair. Thranduil believed he’d never laughed so hard in his life as the older elleth’s face betrayed absolute astonishment. Aeglosdes was always fun to tease, but there was only so much Thranduil could do to her before he was beaten and sent out of her house. Maerwen, however, had little concern with how angry her mother became. 

The two friends ended up reminiscing on Maerwen’s legendary sass before parting ways for the evening. Despite his best efforts, it was difficult to return home in a bad mood, so Thranduil didn’t even try. No use holding on to his resentment. He’d end up too much like his father. Besides, even if he did, his mother would pick up on his sour mood and ask him what was wrong. It would be difficult to explain to her how her husband was weak in the eyes of her son.

Thranduil instead decided perhaps he would spend another evening with his mother. It would cheer her up as much as it would him. Together they would wait up, it being many hours before Oropher returned home that night.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sitting at a table with Celeborn, Saeros, and a few other advisors, Oropher waited patiently as the king reviewed several proposals that were placed before him. It had been rather strange when King Thingol had asked Oropher personally to sit in on this meeting instead of merely standing guard during it. While related to the king, it was not unusual for Thingol to dismiss his relatives completely if he deemed them of little use. And while he’d been shown favor over the past several decades, Oropher had rarely been invited by his great uncle to do more than offer his input every now and again. 

This meeting would hopefully prove to be a great opportunity.

Of those in attendance truly Celeborn was the most tolerable of the lot. His cousin was level headed for the most part, with sound reasoning. While it seemed strange to Oropher that his cousin had chosen a Noldor wife, everything else he’d done in life had shown a propensity for sound judgment. And while he knew his son was not particularly fond of his relation, Celeborn was a solid ally, someone that Oropher respected and was pleased to find was respected by in return. 

The advisors, as a whole, the guard captain did not particularly care for. As a general rule they were too ambitious and sneaky for his liking. Many tended to even forget the fact that, technically speaking, Oropher was a prince of Doriath just the same as Celeborn. A lesser prince, granted as his grandmother had married well below her station, but a prince nonetheless. 

Of them all, however, it was Saeros which the guard despised the most. While certainly gifted with words, Saeros was like a snake, cunning and conniving. He spoke fair but with a bite just underneath, always baiting and manipulating. He was the sort of ellon that Oropher desperately tried to keep his son away from, though it was getting harder and harder to do so. Thranduil did not need the influence, whether good or bad, from the likes of Saeros. 

But shoving aside his dislike of most of the elves assembled, Oropher sat up straight and looked to the king, trying not to feel out of place. He sat between Celeborn and Saeros, who seemed annoyed at having his usual seat taken by Oropher. But the guard did not spare the other a single glance, nor did he feel any guilt at usurping the seat. This is where the king had indicated that he should be, so here is where Oropher was. 

The issues discussed that evening were largely about the news of the Noldor and their plans for attacking Morgoth soon. Mid-summer, in fact. And while the armies of Noldor were hardly the concern of Doriath, the fact that Mablung and Beleg were foolishly running off to join a fight not their own meant that responsibilities had to be shifted. New plans had to be made. 

It had already been decided that Oropher would shoulder most of the responsibilities of Mablung, as both were Chief Captains of the King’s Guard. But while Oropher was largely responsible for the security within the fortress, Mablung was in charge of the boarders and acted as the king’s personal herald when one was required, when word need to be delivered outside of Menegroth. His absence meant that the silver-haired ellon would more than likely have to ride out to scout along the boarders in the next few weeks, especially with Beleg gone as well. It would take the Captain of the Guard away from home more often than he would like. 

The king looked up from reading through the proposals and turned his full attention to Oropher. “You are certain you can handle these new responsibilities?” he asked carefully, silver eyes searching. 

Feeling his chest puff out a bit, a strong desire to please coming over him, the younger elf bowed his head to his sovereign. “Yes, my lord.”

“Excellent,” Thingol nodded before pausing as he seemed to consider the great nephew he often overlooked. “Perhaps you might get your son to help you.”

While it should not have been, the mention of Thranduil was unexpected, and not wholly welcome. For just a moment Oropher froze, his mind running through a thousand reasons why he should not—would not—allow his son to help him. Thranduil was never to patrol out along the border. Oropher couldn’t stand the thought of hearing about another son riding off into the unknown, never to return… 

“My lord.” 

Snapping out of his silent panic, Oropher turned to find Saeros frowning slightly as he addressed the king. “With all due respect, my lord,” the dark haired ellon bowed his head, “but are you quite certain that Captain Oropher’s son would be…capable of handling any extra responsibilities?”

All panic melted away from the King’s Guard at the words, and before thinking through his actions, Oropher snapped. “What?”

The smaller elf turned and eyed the ellon beside him, his manner cool, yet with a hidden distaste underneath. “Forgive me, Captain,” the advisor replied evenly, “but your son is rather young to be taking up such responsibly. We’ve all heard of his…mishaps the past several years.”

“All of them minor with no harm done,” Oropher defended, scowling at the other elf. He knew he was being baited, but he could not keep silent and allow his son’s honor to be attacked. “My son is more than capable of handling any assignment I give to him.”

“Forgive me,” Saeros replied mildly once more, a hidden smirk threatening to break his contrite mask. “I did not wish to offend you. Yet I cannot help but wonder at your confidence in the child. Did you not just reassign him to the southern wing for at least the next week? What is he being punished for this time?”

This was why he was a guard to the king and had not tried to become an advisor. Staring at the likes of Saeros and those like him seated at the table, Oropher was convinced that they helped make up the filth of the earth. If the king were not sitting there and, indeed, if he were not so well trained, the silver-haired ellon was quite certain he’d punch the smaller elf in the face. Criticism and doubt were understandable and expected, but the barely concealed insult would not be tolerated. If anyone even insinuated insult towards his family it changed the dynamics of any future associations as far as the guard was concerned. Offences to him he could forgive. Those about his family? Never. 

So, looking the other ellon straight in the eye, making sure to narrow his eyes in the way he’d long ago learned intimidated subordinates, Oropher held his head high and explained, “I’ve transferred him there to help with integration into a new training system. Nothing more.”

Saeros’ lips twitched, a biting remark on the tip of his tongue, but he was interrupted. “New training?” the king’s voice cut into the argument before it could become truly heated. “What kind of training?” 

Turning back around to face the monarch showed that Thingol did indeed appear genuinely curious. Despite the slight mishap the day before, it was obvious that the king favored Thranduil. Ever since the lad had taken his oath, the king had taken a special interest in the boy. It had been strange― quite shocking ― when he had commanded Thranduil to learn dwarvish. Even after, he often asked Oropher after his son, wanting to know the boy’s progress, as if planning something bigger for the child. It frightened Oropher. 

It was with the utmost shame that the father had to admit that he’d never been fully honest with the king about his son’s development as a warrior. True, Thranduil needed a lot of work when it came to patience and mental discipline, but his son was hardly at a novice level in other areas of skill. Of the recruits that had come forward in the last century, Thranduil was certainly at the top of his class. The boy was good. Very good. Too good to be wasted as a mere guard, if truth be told. Yet Oropher found he could not allow his son to be anything else. He might have felt more guilt had Calassiel not also agreed it would be best to keep their rambunctious son close. For Thranduil’s own good. 

But as he was beginning to understand, it was no longer possible to contain Thranduil. He had grown bored and restless in his duties to the point where he no longer cared to do his best. Thingol had always believed that the boy should be trained for the Praetorian Guard, yet it had been Oropher that had kept him back. Now there was no way for Oropher to withdraw his promise to his son now that the king had become interested and Thranduil so impatient. Perhaps it was time to loosen the reigns? Perhaps his son was truly ready for the next step? 

“I am training him for the Praetorian Guard, my lord,” the captain replied evenly, bowing his head low to the king. “His physical training is nearly complete, and I have begun conditioning him mentally.”

“Excellent,” Thingol allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. “Enlist him to aid you in your extra responsibilities as part of his training. You may have the rest of the week to do with him as you will, and after he will be assigned extra duty.”

Beside him, Saeros sneered, but Oropher nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

And with that final order, the meeting continued beyond simple duty rosters. The borders were being closed off to any traders soon in preparation for the Noldor battles. While the others fought their wars against Morgoth, Doriath was to remain safe and protected from all outside evils. The magic of the queen was powerful, yet it was always wise to take extra precautions. 

But unlike every other meeting Oropher had attended in the past, he found he could not concentrate. Try as he might to make his mind focus on one of the only meetings he’d been allowed to attend like this, his thoughts kept drifting back to his son. Mentally, Oropher sighed. Even when the boy wasn’t present he was disruptive. 

There was really nothing to be worried about. Thranduil was perfectly safe in Doriath and was certainly protected while within Menegroth. Yet there would always be a fear that shadowed Oropher’s heart when he looked outside of their protected wood. Despite what his son believed, the world was dangerous and cruel. They lived in such dark, dangerous times, a world where the First Born were allowed to be slaughtered and swept away. There were such evil creatures spawning now it was sometimes difficult to remember that the world had not been intended for this chaos. 

There were great heroes in the world, as Thranduil liked to believe that there were, yet they were not merely born great. Most had come into their true greatness after struggling. Suffering. They were the ellyn and men who woke screaming at night from nightmares, the ones who wept bitter tears at the loved ones gone. They were the ones that gave up everything they had, including their own lives, in order to do what needed to be done. 

Thranduil wanted to be some kind of hero, wanted fame and glory, to have his name immortalized for all eternity. But Oropher knew his son did not understand what that truly meant. If he could, Oropher would hold his son back from the great feats the child wished to accomplish, would even rather taken the boy’s anger and resentment. Because what Thranduil did not know was that the truly great heroes of the world gave up more than he knew his son was willing to give. 

No, while Oropher would train his son, would build him up to be a formidable warrior, the silver-haired ellon prayed to the Valar that his son would never be required to use the skills taught. Just the thought of losing yet another child nearly sent the guard into a panicked fit. But it would not come to that. He would do anything to keep it from coming to that. Even if he had to throw himself into the sea and drown or face Morgoth himself, he would do it. 

When the meeting concluded, Saeros and most of the other advisors stood and left quickly, just as soon as the king departed. Those that remained were Celeborn, Tindir, and Erthron. The three ellyn stood in the corner of the room speaking quietly even as Oropher continued to stare after the king, feeling heavy and ill at ease, mind straying to darker memories. 

“Oropher.”

Turning, a bit startled, the King’s Guardsman locked eyes with Celeborn, who was eyeing him strangely. “Cousin,” the other elf called with a light smile. “Come join us. I was hoping to get your opinion on several matters.”

One thick brow shot upwards, but the captain had enough grace not to vocalize his surprise at the offer. He was not often inclined to speak with advisors, nor was he often invited to sit with them. His opinion was rarely asked, save in manners of security. So, believing that this must be a continuation of the meeting, held privately as he had learned was the way of advisors, he nodded. It would be wise to accept the offer, he decided. His father had always taught him that knowledge was just as effective a weapon as the sword. 

So, as the four walked off, Celeborn soon fell behind, grabbing Oropher’s arm, forcing his cousin to walk more slowly than he was accustomed. When they were several feet behind the others, the counselor whispered, “Are you well?”

Taken back by the question, Oropher frowned. “Yes. Why?” 

The other shrugged his shoulder ever so slightly in a manner that reminded the guard too much of his son at the moment. “Do not let Saeros anger you. He is always one to stir up conflict.”

Oropher struggled to keep from snorting. “That is an understatement.”

“I caution you, though,” the elder elf said seriously, causing the other to pause. “For all his insults, you cannot harm Saeros.” Before Oropher could defend himself, his cousin continued. “Because there are those of us who have first claim on beating him to a pulp before you.”

The two ellon exchanged similar looks of knowing amusement, before lengthening their strides to catch up with Tindir and Erthron. Yes, Oropher decided, Celeborn was indeed a good ally to have. Perhaps it would be prudent to learn more from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I never seriously considered Oropher and Celeborn as being close, but, eh. They’re kinda cute. :P
> 
> History Notes: 468 Thingol refuses to join Maedhros when a message was sent to Doriath. Also, it seemed to me while reading The Children of Húrin that Morgoth knew of the battle coming up and was able to counter it fairly easy. 
> 
> Dagor Bragollach 455 (The Battle of Sudden Flame) was, from my understanding, the first time dragons were used in warfare by Morgoth. It was an utterly brutal battle in which no one really knew how to fight Glaurung the Father of Dragons. And yes, if Saeros sounds familiar, he is. He’s the little bitch from The Children of Húrin as well. If you’re unfamiliar with him, you’ll find out what happens to him later. 
> 
> I think that’s all the big history points I used at the moment, but please do let me know if you have any questions. Thanks and I look forward to hearing from you all!


	5. Courting Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil is allowed the chance to go to Astar's party to celebrate his majority, but it doesn't go as he planned.

Chapter Four: Courting Trouble

Since the first day of his father’s new training, Thranduil’s once boring existence had steadily turned into a living hell. Forced to rise every morning before the sun, to run laps and the obstacle course, having to quickly cleaning and going to stand guard in the southern wing found the young elf’s mind oddly numb when in the silence. While a part of the blond was grateful that the dwarves had left and he would not have to hear comments on his ears or eyebrows anymore, their absence actually brought with it an odd sense of sadness. 

Now there was nothing. 

Worse yet, even after his shift in the southern wing was complete, his father had taken it upon himself to train the younger elf harder. Oropher took this drilling very seriously, and worked on his son’s swordplay. At first Thranduil had hopes that it would be simple, friendly father-son sparing that might even bring them closer together, something to look back on one day in warm memory. That dream shattered rather violently, however. With sometimes brutal tactics, Oropher would attack his son, never relenting, pushing and driving the younger elf until the blond was certain he’d either collapse from exhaustion or die from a failure to block a hit. 

The results usually had Thranduil on the ground, panting and scrambling to get away from his rabid sparing partner, who did not take pity on him just because he had fallen. And once the session was deemed complete, the young elf had to hunker down and prepare himself for a long, long lecture about everything he’d done wrong. “You’re seeing but you’re not watching!” was one of his father’s favorite phrases. Wisely, Thranduil never pointed out how much that didn’t make any sense. 

After only several days it was quite clear to the young elf that he would either become the best of the best— as his father claimed he would be— or he would die trying. It was actually very tempting to lie down and give up. The need to become an elite guard was suddenly no longer appealing. Sleeping, baking with his mother, and generally hiding from his father sounded much more attractive in all honesty. 

Yet there was this stubborn nagging in the back of Thranduil’s mind, an incessant hum of offense and anger that would not let the young elf alone. A need to prove himself burned hotly in his belly, and every time a serious thought of giving up entered his mind, this irksome fire flared, and he found himself pushing harder, struggling to show his worth. There was a great need to defy his father, to prove that he was good enough to earn the title of Praetorian, to prove his father’s disappointments unjustified. He didn’t care how, Thranduil vowed that he would become an elite. He would never give up. 

Thankfully, however, when Astar’s anniversary of conception came around, Thranduil was able to attend the celebration of his closest friend, spared from a night of vicious training with his father. After his shift of standing around listening to nothing, he rushed to clean himself up, change into something that would not chaff his armpits, before rushing off to the home of Medlinor. 

The blond found himself feeling a bit resentful when he finally arrived only to see his mother and father already there when he had been forced to come late. But ignoring them for the time being, Thranduil began looking around for Astar to congratulate him on his majority. While searching through the large throng of elves he nearly tripped over someone in the process.

“Excuse me,” he apologized instantly, a bit flustered, before looking down at the very disgruntled elleth. “Oh, Maerwen, it’s you.” He favored her with a mock-sneer. “Never mind then.”

The young she-elf snorted, flipping her thick dark hair over her shoulder. “Charming. As always,” she grumbled. 

“Where’s your brother, then?” Thranduil asked, looking for the silver head that he desired. 

“How should I know?” the elleth frowned. “You’re taller than me. You should be able to find him better.”

The blond sneered in distaste as yet more guests arrived. “Why are there so many people here?” he grumbled more to himself than to his companion. 

“Because nana and ada thought it would be an excellent time to improve social standing,” Maerwen replied dispassionately, glaring out at the crowd herself. 

Staring down at the elfling, Thranduil had to wonder at her rather cynical perspective on life in general. Astar was nothing but positivity and energy, while his sister sulked and frowned. Astar had never understood his sister and neither Medlinor nor Aeglosdes had come to any greater revelation of their daughter than their son. 

It looked as though it would be a long, tiring evening with lots of forced smiles and polite laughs, however, and Thranduil felt too tired to indulge in anything of the sort at the moment. He’d been hoping for a more intimate party, just the family and a few other friends. But just his luck, the celebration had turned into a large affair. Much larger than his own anniversary when he’d turned one hundred. 

“What’s the matter, Thranduil?” Maerwen asked, a mocking distress in her tone. “Not having a good time?” 

The older elf snorted. “Show me where you get the wine, runt,” he demanded. “If I’m going to get through this evening, might as well get into the spirit, if you get my meaning.”

The elfling rolled her eyes before taking his hand and leading him through the crowd. Many of the guests nodded or gave greeting, in which Thranduil tried his best to acknowledge pleasantly. There were members of the guard there, recruits, and quite a few elves closer to Astar’s age that Thranduil did not really know, nor did he care to know. One of Astar’s best qualities was the fact that he could be quite mature for his age, while the rest of his peers were just so…uninteresting and childish. No doubt they would hog all of Astar’s attention this evening. 

Blessedly, however, there was wine, and when he and Maerwen came to the table, he grabbed a glass and filled it nearly to the top. “Would you care for some?” he asked the elleth. 

The girl nodded hesitantly. “But only this one,” she said firmly. 

Handing her a glass, Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” he asked. “Why’s that?” 

“Nana said that I’m to only have one or two glasses.”

Laughing, the elder elf put his arm around the girl playfully. “Then you shall have three!” 

“Three?” the she-elf baulked. “But nana said―”

“Your dear, dear mother,” the blond interrupted smoothly, “made the unfortunate mistake of giving you an unspecific number. And everyone knows that when a parent gives you limits, you must go just one over.”

Maerwen held her wine glass awkwardly as she stared up at her older brother’s best friend. Her silver eyes narrowed with thought. “Why must you go just one over?”

Thranduil tipped back his glass, allowing a generous amount of wine to slide down his throat. The liquid was pleasantly sweet on the tongue and burned down the throat. Thank the Valar it was of decent quality. The evening was now deemed not a complete loss. “Because, my dear Maerwen,” he patted the top of her wavy hair, just to see her scowl, “as children, we must push and see where limitations are truly drawn. It’s sacred, this right of parent testing. Every child must complete it or forever stay an elfling.”

It was clear that the elleth was not at all buying the story, but then, Maerwen was not her brother. Instead, she merely took a tiny sip of her wine, nodding her head thoughtfully, as if weighting Thranduil’s words against her own reason. After a moment of comfortable silence and drinking, the girl looked up at the tall elf, setting down her glass. “I want to dance,” she declared. “Dance with me.”

Once more that blond tipped his head back and laughed. “My, the wine has gotten to you quickly,” he smirked. Maerwen blushed but she did not back down, nor did her face betray embarrassment. She would not allow him to get out of this easily. 

There was music playing and many elves were already dancing, yet it was a bit surprising to Thranduil, as he looked out at the dance area, to realize how few elflings there really were around Maerwen’s age. Those that were in attendance didn’t seem to be the type of children she would likely socialize with. This party, in all actuality, was probably going to be worse for her than it was for him. At least Thranduil liked people in general and usually enjoyed parties. Somehow the young elleth beside him didn’t seem the type to appreciate such gatherings. 

So, draining his glass in another two gulps, Thranduil bowed teasingly to the elfing, and took her hand in his. “My lady,” he cooed, “might I have the pleasure of this next dance?”

It was almost astonishing, the haughty look such a young she-elf gave her much older, taller companion, but eventually, she smirked. “I suppose I’ll pity you.”

The two smiled at one another before they made their way towards the dance floor. Maerwen was only about half Thranduil’s height, perhaps a little less, but that didn’t stop the two from dancing as merrily as the rest of the gathered. In fact, their mismatched sizes actually caused more laughter and joy amongst the party. Maerwen didn’t indulge in such frivolity often, but as Thranduil swung her about, jumping and skipping with her eventually having to stand on his feet to keep up, the blond found himself glad she had wanted to dance. Not only was he having fun making a proper idiot of himself, but when the serious elfling actually began shrieking with laughter, it made him feel as though he’d won something important. Not just anyone could make Maerwen laugh, after all. 

They danced and danced about stupidly until eventually Maerwen complained of being dizzy. As they wandered away from the dancing, a flash of silver came streaking towards them. “Thranduil!”

Turning, the blond smiled brightly. “There he is!” he beamed, clasping arms with his friend. “Congratulations on your majority! I always knew you’d survive this long,” he teased. 

Astar rolled his eyes, but smiled, pleased. “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss this for Arda,” Thranduil waved him off. “Besides, it’s not every year that your best friend officially sheds the title of elfling.”

The two friends laughed, spirits high, while the elleth beside them watched in apathy. “Thranduil,” Maerwen interrupted impatiently. “Will you dance again with me later?”

“Of course!” the blond beamed. “There isn’t a better dance partner here, I’d wager. At least not as pretty as you,” he couldn’t help add with a wink. 

It was not uncommon for the two of them to tease each other like this, especially since it always seemed to disturb Astar for one reason or another. But today the silver-haired ellon didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was grinning rather wickedly, before he cooed at his sister. “Oh Maerwen, I can’t tell you how happy your gift has made me. Thank you!” 

The she-elf frowned, one dark brow lifting effortlessly. “Gift?” she questioned carefully. 

“Why, yes!” Astar beamed. “I’ve always wanted a brother, and now you’ve given me the best one.” He put his arm around Thranduil, hugging him to his side. “When’s the wedding, you two?”

While Maerwen’s face transformed into something close to horror, the blond barked out a laugh. “Well,” Thranduil replied in between giggles, “we haven’t set the date, exactly, brother dear.”

Large silver eyes narrowed furiously, before the elleth smacked the blond in the side with all her strength, eliciting a slight yelp from the older elf. “Traitor,” Maerwen hissed. 

Her brother laughed, holding up his hands as a sign of peace. “Hey, in all fairness, he’s my best friend,” he smiled down at his still upset sister. “He should always be on my side, anyway.”

The elfling snorted as she stomping off, apparently having had enough teasing. She was so different than her brother that Thranduil once again had to stop and marvel. He wondered if they should apologize for riling her up, only to have Astar waved him off. Soon the two friends were catching and laughing almost as though they were the only ones in the crowded area. It was exactly what Thranduil needed after a horribly long, tiring day. And after a few hours, just when he’d completely unwound from the stress of the week, he saw his mother and father coming towards him. Frighteningly, there was a twinkle in his mother’s eye. 

“Darling!” she smiled brightly, rushing over to give her son a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, Astar,” she hugged the younger ellon who had become as close as a son to her. “Congratulations on this the day of your conception.”

“Thank you, Calassiel,” Astar hugged back. “I’m glad you could come this evening.”

“Of course!” the elleth laughed, causing her son to smile. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

Oropher nodded his head to the other silver-haired ellon politely. “Astar,” he greeted nicely enough. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Sir.” 

And with those pleasantries out of the way, Calassiel hooked her arm with her son’s and smiled that mischievous smile that the younger blond knew to take as a bad sign when it was directed at him. And while Oropher and Astar began striking up a conversation about the younger elf’s initiation into the guard, Calassiel asked casually, “Darling, do you remember my friend, Fimel?” 

There were a million different reasons why his mother would bring up one of her many friends from court, but Thranduil found he could not make sense of any that popped into his mind. “Is she the really thin one with dark hair?” he asked after a moment, racking his mind to remember to elleth.

“Yes,” Calassiel nodded, pleased. “Do you remember me telling you about her daughter, Rivornil?” 

The young ellon’s face went blank. “Uh…”

“Oh, for Valar’s sake, Thranduil,” his mother rolled her eyes. “The young elleth who is studying to become a healer!” 

“Right!” he nodded, before glancing at his father, who had stopped his forced tête-à-tête with Astar, and appeared just as lost as his son over the entire conversation topic. A quick glance at Astar revealed that the younger ellon had no clue either. No help there. “Um…how are her studies going…?”

“Well, actually,” Calassiel nodded in satisfaction at her son’s fake interest. “She is making quite a name for herself in the healing halls.”

“That’s…good.” Once more Thranduil stole a look at his father, asking for some sort of help. The older ellon could only frown, apparently not having been included in his wife’s latest scheme. 

“Calassiel, what are you—?” Oropher began. 

“Would you like to meet her?” the golden haired elleth asked, completely ignoring her husband. 

Taken off guard, still unsure as to what his mother was getting at by wanting to introducing him to the girl, he nodded slowly. It wasn’t really that terrible of a request. “I…suppose so.”

That was the right answer, apparently, as Calassiel beamed. She even went as far as to jump up and down excitedly, dainty hands clapping. “Wonderful! I’ll go find Fimel. I’m sure that after you spend some time with Rivornil tonight, you’ll want us to arrange more meetings for you.”

A sigh escaped Oropher, and after glancing at Astar, Thranduil turned to look at his father more fully. The guard captain didn’t look pleased. “Calassiel,” Oropher began sternly, “I don’t think meeting ellith at the moment will do Thranduil much good. He must focus on his training.”

“To tosh,” the blonde waved him off easily. “I just thought it would be nice for him to spend some time with someone other than Astar— and I mean that in the best possible way, dear,” she smiled innocently at the young silver-haired ellon. 

“I understand…?” Astar glanced at Thranduil only mildly uncomfortably, as he was used to Calassiel’s manners by now and had heard more than one of his parents’ debates over the years. He really was practically their son. 

Oropher, ignoring the two children, focused solely on his wife. “He doesn’t need to worry about courting anyone now,” he insisted firmly. 

Thranduil chocked on his wine, coughing and sputtering. His parents turned towards him, Calassiel alarned, while Oropher reached over and patted his son’s back a few times. Astar, the brat, was trying to hold back a laugh and failing rather miserably. But when he managed to calm himself, Thranduil gaped at his mother, eyes wide. “What?” he gasped. 

“What?” Calassiel asked, confused. 

“You want me to court Rivorneth?” he hissed, suddenly fearful that someone had overhead the conversation. Beside him, a giggle escaped his friend. 

“It’s Rivornil,” she correctly lightly. “And why not? She’s a handsome girl.”

“Nana!” Thranduil cried in horror as Astar turned red, his shoulders shaking violently with poorly suppressed mirth. 

“Oh, why not, Thranduil?” Calassiel pouted. “She’s a perfectly respectable and lovely elleth! Why shouldn’t you wish to court her?”

Blue eyes wildly darted around the area, trying desperately to find some source of inspiration to get out of this mess. Anything to dissuade his mother’s attempt at matchmaking. Why in Arda did she think this was a good idea to bring up now? 

Just then, he saw a group of elflings run by, laughing and skipping, having no knowledge of matchmaking. They were still free, still happy with little responsibility. Drawing inspiration, he blurted out, “I’m too young!” 

While usually the perfect lady, his mother snorted, posting her hands on her hips. That wasn’t a good sign, and her dry look had her son feeling very small. “Please, Thranduil,” she scoffed. “Your father and I married when I was only one hundred and thirty-six. Your one hundred and sixty in a month and a half. You’re not too young.”

Now it was Oropher’s turn to flush as his wife brought up their own courting days. While usually composed, his father often got flustered when personal topics were dragged up from the depths for all to hear. Especially topics of love or any other romantic notions he might be hiding. Everyone knew Oropher was not much older than his wife, only by about a decade or so, but he always became a tad defensive at how young he’d gotten married. Thranduil knew it had been his mother’s idea to wed, and that it had actually been his mother to make all the advances on his father. In her own words, his father was ‘shy and sweet,’ never wanting to pursue Calassiel. Rumor had it she’d pursued him for at least twenty years, which had made Oropher quite the laughing stock for decades to come by his fellow guards before his promotion to captain. 

Unfortunately, now Calassiel seemed intent on tracking down a wife for her son. Suddenly his father’s misery when his mother brought up their courting endeavors didn’t seem the least bit funny to Thranduil. No, he actually felt sorry that he had ever laughed at his father. Astar’s face, however, was nearly purple from his efforts not to laugh at who would very soon be his commanding officers, while Oropher sent dark looks at the recruit. 

“But I…I don’t even know her!” Thranduil whined, feeling his face redden, as he tried to think of a way to escape. Maybe he should just push Astar at her and run? 

“That’s why you must meet her!” Calassiel cheered merrily. “I’m sure once you’ve met her for yourself, you’ll find she’s a wonderful young elleth. Very pretty girl.”

And before Thranduil could have blinked, his mother latched on to his arm, dragging him away through the crowd, to find Fimel and Rivorneth…or Rivornil…whatever her name was. As they left, the blond felt his face darken further in humiliation as Astar’s boisterous laughter booming at his back. Some friend! 

After some hunting, eventually they found Fimel. Tall and thin Fimel was distinctive with her black hair and sharp eyes. While perhaps considered pretty, her features could be severe, cheek bones almost too high and her lips turned naturally downward. But the moment she saw Calassiel and, more importantly, the blonde’s captive, those downturned lips twitched up. 

“I found him!” his mother cried cheerfully as she all but threw her son forward towards her friend as offering. 

Fimel smiled nicely at the ellon, nodding her head and curtseying, unfazed by her friend’s overzealousness. “Greetings, Thranduil. I’m Fimel. And this is my daughter, Rivornil.”

Glancing to the side, Thranduil almost jumped in surprise at the sudden appearance of the elleth. Whether or not Rivornil had been there before, he did not know. He could not recall seeing her when walking over. And it truly was not difficult to look her over. 

Rivornil, unlike her mother, was short, but thin. Her stature misleading. Had he not known better, Thranduil might have mistaken her for an elfling, or at least an elleth not fully grown. She had the same dark hair as her mother, but her eyes were soft. A watery blue that held compassion, an excellent quality in a healer. And as an established healer quickly rising through the ranks, there was a certain air about the she-elf, one of quiet detachment, as if she only cared to analyze everyone in the room rather than interact. 

All in all, Rivornil was a pretty enough girl, but there was something…lacking in her appearance. Her manners were simply missing any sort of brilliance that would catch his notice. For the first time in his life, Thranduil found himself seriously considering what he might want in a mate, but as he looked at the elleth before him, he could tell instinctually that Rivornil was not it. 

But not wanting to appear rude, Thranduil smiled as charmingly as possible. She was still very pretty and he might as well try to get on her good side. A healer was always a good ally to have. He just hoped that this attempt at forming an acquaintanceship would not encourage his mother’s fantasies of a marriage and grandchildren. “A pleasure to meet you,” he nodded his head, taking the elleth’s hand and kissing the back of it lightly, as protocol dictated. 

The she-elf, instead of smiling or giggling or anything else that one might have expected, merely stared up at him, her eyes actually rather dull when she looked at him directly, blue orbs glancing him over with apparent disinterest. A flash of self-consciousness overcame the blond and he found himself looking down at his clothes. Was there something on him? Wasn’t he dressed nice enough? He had made sure to wash up before coming to the celebration. 

“Charmed,” at last the healer spoke before turning her gaze out towards the dance floor. 

An awkward silence fell over the pair as their mothers were happily chattering away to each other, apparently wishing the two to become more acquainted with one other. They stood quietly for only a moment more before Thranduil found he couldn’t stand still. Without much thought, he held out his hand to the she-elf. “Would you care to dance?” he offered, a nervous smile on his face. 

Again, misty eyes looked up at him, before a reluctant hand slid into his. Thranduil watched in horror as something close to a sneer appeared on the elleth’s face as they walked out together. While trying to keep his features neutral, thankful— for once— for all his father’s training, the blond inwardly squirmed. Rivornil didn’t look like the kind of she-elf that danced a lot, making him wonder if she would be able to get through this without hating every moment of it. She was not even like Maerwen who, Thranduil suspected, liked dancing more than she led others to believe. 

But there was no time to worry as the music began and the couples were all sent twirling and strutting about in their dance forms. Thranduil was considered a good dancer and had even taken it upon himself to practice when he was younger. He liked to dance, liked to move and sway with the cheerful jigs. Coupled with his guard training, he had nearly perfect muscle control, could move his body however he pleased and never feared. It was a wholly freeing experience. 

When he looked at his current dance partner, however, Rivornil’s movements were…less graceful. While technically sound, she was stiff and lacked the true liberty and delight in moving her body. An elf that could not dance was said not to be an elf at all, and for a moment, Thranduil glanced at the she-elf’s ears, just to be certain to see the tips. Of course he was being ridiculous, but there was something…off when they moved together, and he was inclined to think it was her fault. 

Thankfully the song was short, and the young couple was put out of their misery soon enough. There was sure to be a strong blush across Thranduil’s features as they walked off the floor that he hoped he could maybe pass off as proof of exertion rather than the token of humiliation it was. They walked stiffly back to their awaiting mothers, whose eyes gleamed brightly rather predatorily. 

“You looked lovely out there,” Calassiel cooed shamelessly once they were near. 

For the first time Rivornil blushed, looking down, while Fimel smiled something rather calculated. “Rivornil, why don’t you tell Thranduil about your work?” the dark haired elleth prompted. 

Only sparing her mother one more glance, the she-elf turned to Thranduil and began speaking all about her studies as a healer and her work. The topic came up rather quickly, and Rivornil almost seemed to be reciting a rehearsed speech. The ellon honestly tried to listen, to pay attention, but his mind soon wandered, and he began fantasying about the night being done so he could go to bed. There was very little Thranduil knew about healing, and what he did was all he really wanted to know. When would he ever use anything more complex than basic field dressing anyway? That’s what healers were for. 

Finally she stopped, and inevitable asked Thranduil what it was he did to occupy himself. Relieved to get a word in, the blond rallied his spirits and launched in on relating all he did as a guard of the kingdom and his continued training as a Praetorian. He had only been speaking about four minutes before a rather nasty frown marred the elleth’s pretty face. “Oh,” she replied coldly. “You fight. How…barbaric.”

“‘Barbaric’?” Thranduil repeated, unable to stop the offense from coloring his tone. “There is nothing barbaric in my training whatsoever.” 

“If that is your opinion.” And even though she did not move, Thranduil got the distinct feeling he’d been shrugged off. 

“What makes what I do so barbaric?” he demanded, anger slowly starting to creep into the conversation. 

The she-elf favored him with an almost bored look before sighing. “Surely you can understand?” she began patiently. It only served to infuriate Thranduil more. “You train so that you can end lives and hurt others. How is that not barbaric? Is it not much more civilized to try and negotiate rather than resort to violence?”

In all of his nearly complete one hundred and sixty years, never had Thranduil stopped to consider any of his training to be barbarous. The lessons were never presented in a way that could lead one to believe it to be brutal savagery. In fact, hearing rumors and tales of Noldor battles, war and fighting sounded terrible heroic and glorifying. Good versus evil. There was much honor in fighting against the Darkness. 

Yet his father had always made sure to temper such fantasies into something tamer. Unlike other young ellyn, Thranduil had grown up with lessons of how terrible war was. In fact, Oropher said the realities of war were directly responsible for King Thingol’s policies of staying out of the Noldor led charges against Morgoth. ‘Defense. That is what is honorable, ion nín. There is no true glory to be attained in war. Only sorrow.’

“My training is not for mindless slaughter,” the blond began carefully, wanting suddenly very badly for the she-elf to think well of him. Of his father’s career and philosophy. “It is for defense. Fighting, as my father says, if necessary, is a precautionary act for us in Doriath. We do not seek conflict, we seek the protection of our people.”

“So you lower yourselves to be like the barbarians in the name of precaution?” Rivornil’s nose scrunched up in distain. “Sacrificing good conscious and civility is hardly a fair trade.”

Anger came rushing back to the guard, but he fought to keep his expression cool. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so cross with anyone before. It was a different kind of anger than when he fought with his father or with other guards. As the blond looked over the elleth before him, he found himself truly insulted and more than just frustrated with her lack of understanding when she claimed to be so civilized.

This was the kind of elf his mother wished him to court?

Unable to keep the distain from his face, Thranduil turned away from Rivornil and decided that he didn’t care how good of a healer she was. She was not worth his time. There might have been some lingering sense of guilt on his part had he not been quite certain that the lady felt exactly as he did. They were simply not suited for one another. 

So, after an appropriate amount of time, and attempting not to look completely rude, the ellon managed to slip away into the crowd, pointedly ignoring his mother’s call. A glass of wine was needed. A strong glass. So making his way to the barrels, he helped himself to a generous amount. 

Astar found him soon, still smiling and snickering at his friend’s misfortune. The teasing was met with poorly, as the blond couldn’t find it in himself to laugh off the ridiculous situation. There was just something about Rivornil’s disgusted looks that set wrong with him. He didn’t like her disapproval or her boorish attitude. Once again a perfectly good evening had turned for the worse. 

The party continued into the night, the guests getting steadily more intoxicated. Thankfully Astar managed to escape the glum company of his best friend, and could enjoy the rest of his party. Thranduil spent the rest of his evening trying to stay away from both his parents and from Rivornil and her mother. The game of hide and hopefully never found was quickly picked up by Maerwen, who, for reasons Thranduil could not divine, decided to help. 

By the end of the evening, when everyone began stumbling towards their own homes, Thranduil’s evening end decidedly not so abysmal. He had gotten to speak and have some fun with Astar, and with Maerwen by his side, he’d managed to escape anymore awkward situations the rest of the night. He even danced with her again before the musicians packed up in the wee hours of the morning. So when he found his parents in the crowd, walking home with them, Thranduil decided that things in his life couldn’t get much worse, even as the events of the evening had left him with a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay. A LOT of things happened in real life recently. And, again, I PROMISE things will pick up. This is a slowburn kinda story, I suppose. Everything needs to be set up before the real action can begin. 
> 
> Reviews are welcomed and encouraged! Thanks everyone! 
> 
> P.S. Happy May the 4th to everyone! ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I know I’ll sound a little hipster, but I always loved Thranduil even before the Hobbit movies came out. I loved the mystery behind him, and pretty well filled in my own history for him, which, believe it or not, the movies actually lined up pretty well with some of my head cannons. This is going to be the history of Thranduil, and how he became the way he is often seen—bitter, a bit cruel, and dangerous. This is my attempt to reconcile the books, movies, and my own head cannons. 
> 
> This story will slap you upside the face with a lot of Tolkien history, events meticulously studied and reviewed in order to complement and enhance my own ideas. More will be explained throughout the story, so don’t worry. 
> 
> So, we know that Oropher and Celeborn are cousins somehow, and that Celeborn was the great nephew of Thingol. So, I made Oropher a great nephew of Thingol by making his grandmother Thingol’s sister. It’s not recorded that Thingol had a sister, but since Tolkien sometimes leaves out certain women, I made up one. My reasoning for having Oropher be ‘royal’ will come up later. 
> 
> I can see a young Thranduil being quite arrogant and full of himself and being doted on by his parents. I can’t help but like him, even if he is a bit of a brat. 
> 
> Feedback will be greatly appreciated!


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